
Class ^ c-)r • 

Book /^-V C 



fapyri^htN" I P i S 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 




-^a.t^oL^*^ ^. (0. Qx^^Z^-** 



OCTOBER ROSES 



AND 



OTHER VERSES 



BY 

SUSAN CONDE OSGOOD UPTON 

ti 



published by 

The Neuner Companv 

los angeles 






Copyright, 1915, by 
Susan Conde Osgood Upton 



1^' 

DEC 27 1915 



'CI,A418189 



This book is lovingly dedicated to 

^o Cl]iIbrEn 

believing that no other souvenir that 1 can leave them 

would hold so much of my heart or express 

so well my hope and faith 



CONTENTS 



October Roses 

Huela de Noche 

The Aviator ...... 

A New Text for Memorial Day 

The White, the Red, the Star-Set Blue 

Ring True, O Bell .... 

Sequences of Errors .... 

In Memoriarn — Heroes of the Titanic 

The Little Grey Postman . 

Aileen of Prairie Ronde 

A Retrospect 

Memorial Roses 

The Natal Tie 

He is Risen 

My Father's Prayer 

Love Rules 

California Poppies 

In His Hand 

The Unfailing Guide 

Resurrection Hymn 

The Song of Jochebed 

Nature ...... 

California — A Picture 

Apostrophe to the Hudson 

On Mountain Tops 

Inseparable ..... 

Ever Present .... 

Sunset by the Sea .... 

After the Rain .... 

The Lesson of the Mountain Top 
The Sea Mother's Song 
Waking of Spring in the North 

That Cat 

The Challenge of the Sea 
The Library of Congress . 
Tlie Pioneer Pastor 



. 11 

12 

. 13 

14-17 

18, 19 

20,21 

22 
. 23 
24,25 
26,27 

28 
. 29 

30 
. 31 

32 
. 33 

34 
. 35 

36 
. 37 

38 
. 39 

40 
. 41 

42 
. 43 

44 
. 45 

46 
47-49 

50 
. 51 
52, 53 
. 54 

55 
56-59 



5 



California Free 

The Parable of the Tree 

Those Tired Eyes .... 

Lines to My Mother .... 

The White Line ..... 

Imagination ...... 

Thy Still Deep Heart of Rest . 

Little Fairy 

Violets 

The Crucified Years .... 

Love and Care 

My Dream ...... 

A New Year 

A Fisherman ...... 

The Meaning of Christmas 

Canst Thou by Searching Find out God? 

An Anniversary of Sorrow 

The Empty Chair ..... 

Night and Sorrow ..... 

The Broken Set ..... 

Our Child 

Links in Life's Chain 

The Gift was too Fair 

A Welcome 

Baby's Book .... 

To a Young Man on His Twenty 

Growing Young in California 

My Boy 

Letter to a Family Reunion 

A Golden Wedding 

The Debt Ancestral 

Loving Service 

Serve the Lord with Gladness 

The Covenant of Peace 

The Mother's Voice 

Christian Endeavor Marching Song 

Right Wins 

For Old Times' Sake . 

The White Ribbon .... 

Spirit of Christmas 

A Gift of Long Ago 

Hospitality ..... 

6 



-first 



Birthday 



60,61 
62,63 

64 
. 65 

66 
. 67 

68 
. 69 
. 69 
. 70 

71 
. 72 

73 
. 74 

75 
. 76 
77,78 
. 79 
. 80 

81 
. 82 
83,84 

85 
. 86 

87 



90 

91 

92 

93 

94 

95 

96 

97 

98.99 

100, 101 

102.103 

104.105 

. 106 

107 

108.109 

. 110 



From Failure to Flight HI 

My Planting 112 

Light Through the Clouds 113 

The Songless Bird 114 

The Heaviest Load 115 

A Twentieth Century Greeting 116 

Souvenirs 117 

The Poppy Fields 118 

In Orange Blossom Time 119 

The Children's Footsteps 120 

Wants of the Hour 121 

The Mother's Prayer 122 

Autographs 123 

Fragments of Verse 124 

The Rhyme of the Automobile 125 

Dorotha Frances 126 

The True Tale of the Tenderfoot . . . 127^ 128 

A True Christmas Story 129 

They Also 130,131 

Christmas Hymn 132, 133 

Summer . 134 

The Blizzard 135-137 

Happiness 138 

October Roses in California . . . . 139, 140 

The Battle of Leon 141,142 

The Old Blue Spread 143 



OCTOBER ROSES AND OTHER VERSES 



October Roses and Other Verses 



OCTOBER ROSES 

HOW I loved the sweet wild roses 
Hiding where the grass was dense 
In the little unploughed angles 

Of the gray, old zigzag fence! 
To find again their baby faces. 

Like the lilt of olden tune, 
Thought of time and place erases — 
Life, again, is in its June. 

They are blooming in the canyon, 
Seaward — winding, blossom fair. 

Fragrance of them — June's own darlings- 
Scents the ripe October air. 

Through the California valley 
Softly sifts the ocean dew 

And the sun-kissed buds, responsive. 
Lift rosy petals to the blue. 

What secret chemistry of nature 

Brings them to this frostless dell. 
Where Summer's mystic messengers 

Hold the seasons in their spell. 
Where June, the radiant, flitting guest. 

Of frosty northern lands held dear, 
Dwells and twines her wild-rose wreaths 

Round the blossoming year? 

Hint they of some far-borne blessing 

Glowing in perennial charms. 
That shall slip not, evermore, 

Out from close detaining arms> 
Speak they of the hope, unfailmg. 

Crowned, at last, by late-won prize? 
Of the faith that steadfast holdeth. 

Love whose blossom never dies? 
11 



HUELA DE NOCHE 

FRAGRANCE of the tropic night. 
Denied to the all-wooing light 
And lavished where the shadows lurk 
Amid the darkness, mist, and murk. 
Thou art the prototype of such 
Rare souls as move at Pity's touch ! 
Their strength and beauty hidden lie 
When gay Prosperity rides high. 
But rouse whene'er misfortune falls. 
Eager to fly where sorrow calls. 
Or pain that, unrelieved and lone. 
Unto the midnight maketh moan. 

Night flower, thy perfume lives unspent 
Outside thy kindred element. 
Like human spirits, dull and cold, 
That might in blessing rich unfold. 
And thou art blest to know thine hour. 
For many lives find not the power. 
The touch, the key, the hidden spring 
To give the song and sweetness wing. 

Some virtues must be sorrow-born 
Since Sorrow is ; and when, forlorn, 
I tread the vales of adverse fate 
I would this blossom imitate ; 
I'd bid the grief that must ensue 
Develop love, pervasive, true. 
And from my inmost spirit wring 
Fragrance that joy could never bring. 



12 



THE AVIATOR 

LOOSE the ropes! Up and away! 
They watch for us along the bay! 
Danger? Risk? That is the breath 
Of hfe to us who ride with Death; 
Who 'scape his clutches by a hair 
In breathless battles in the air. 
Let those who cower at danger stay ! 
Life was given to fling away ! 
Life is not a coin to hoard, 
'Tis priceless wine to be outpoured 
In high emprise. By this we live 
Nor shrink the last full meed to give. 
To risk, to pour the last drop in. 
Face doom — and, then, to win, to WIN ! 
This the creed that thrills the soul. 
That wings the air-man to his goal. 
So, loose the ropes! Up, and away! 
They wait for us along the bay! 

They wait. They watch with straining eyes. 
In vain. Beneath the waves the bird-man lies. 

What boots it that one battle's lost? 

We'll conquer yet, at deepest cost. 

Some pilot, yet, will safely sail 

Where these bold souls have missed the trail. 



13 



A NEW TEXT FOR MEMORIAL DAY 

/'~\ N fields where battle echoes sleep 

^^ As silent as the hearts its fury stilled. 

The grass grows green, the sod is deep 

Enriched by blood that brave men spilled 

In sacrifice that left unmeasured debt. 

On peaceful acres scattered east and west 

Where never cannon roared or sword was wet. 

Here and there, where'er their soldiers rest. 

Memorial day forbids the nation to forget. 

Flower-strewn the velvet sod that overlies 

These mounds, with marbles for remembrance set. 

And in their presence thrilling memories rise. 

How true they were in those red battle days. 

How loyal to their vision of the right. 

How deaf to voice of profit, pleasure, praise. 

Or fear, how confident that in the might 

Of God their cause went marching on! 

In this firm faith, with loyal breasts they met, 

Unstirred, the hurtling steel, the bayonet. 

To cherish, safe, their high ideals of right 

They pledged their brave young hearts, 

their manhood's might. 
And at the bullet's mark, the saber's edge. 
They paid the last full measure of that pledge — 
Yes — purchased with their parting breath. 
Their nation's life — and paid in wounds and death, 

A grateful country mourned, yet gloried in its loss. 
A bleeding country bowed beneath its heavy cross. 

14 



Remembering, still. 
The glory of those gifts. 

The hurts, the griefs, it watches, now, for rifts 
In War's black clouds, to see its rayless night 
End in the dawning of a higher light. 
Its call, to-day, goes forth to God and man : 
"Lead forward to some kindlier, wiser plan!" 
Their country's cause, these brave 
men died for — yet. 
Their own high faith with equal faith was met. 
Fierce foemen they — yet oft, alike, at mother's knee 
Were taught the Christian's code of loyalty. 
And each in inmost heart had vowed to stand 
Faithful and true to conscience's high demand. 
This, the revelation of the years. 
Uncovers tragedy too deep for tears. 
Time hath other tragic lessons brought 
The earth, since brother here with brother fought; 
Yet, nations dull of heart, stubborn of will. 
Have strong and stronger forged the tools that kill. 
Unto this day — a day of deeds accursed — 
Flames from the pit, volcano-like have burst — 
A holocaust beneath whose baleful glow 
Mothers' sons in ranks of millions, lying low. 
Cry out to earth and Heaven that war shall go! 

Wherefore fight? By woe, and waste, and blood. 
Can truth be taught, or men made wise and good? 
O blinded i>eopIes ! Flee this savage state ! 
Make war, henceforth, on courts of Justice wait. 
For hark! the murmurings of all past years. 
Deep undertones of protest, silences of tears! 
And underneath the din of striving tongues. 
Sterner, steadier than thunder of the guns. 
Comes near the rumbling of Rebellion's breath — 

15 



Christendom against this Reign of Death! 
I seem to hear the legions, mihtant. 
And on the upper air is borne their chant: 

"By all the cherished hopes of those 

who trust in coming good. 
Who blazon on their banners white 

their faith in brotherhood. 
By the sacrifice of Him we name 

'The Prince of Peace,' 
By the sure promise of the Holy Book 

that wars shall cease. 
By the woe of countless mothers, ye, who 

know a mother's heart, 
Take up their cause, O, Christian brothers, 

ye, who take a brother's part! 
And peoples of the earth, ye, from 

its farthest land. 
Unite, and echo round the world a wakened 

world's demand! 
Into plowshares beat your swords, 

uplift the arts of peace. 
For love and brotherhood shall rule 

and war and bloodshed cease!" 

Then, from valleys, misty grey. 
Sounds a thrilling, sobbing tone — 

Voice of women — they who lay 
Tear-wet buds above their own: 

"Is it to feed the maw of War 

Ye nurse the man-child at the breast. 
Only to see his body torn. 
At some madman's behest? 

16 



For this you bred him strong and bold, 
And cherished every charm? 

That he might take the battle's front. 
Men ride to victory o'er his form?" 

Nay! By the love with which we loved them. 
By these fragrant flowers we strow. 

By the tears we shed above them. 
By the hate of hate we know, 
War — that hell of waste and woe — 
Black and brazen curse must go! 

By the pain that racked them long 

Ere the bullet's work was done. 

By the torturing weariness 

Ere the battle day was won. 

War — that hell of waste and woe. 
Black and brazen curse must go!" 

Hear the children making moan. 
Orphaned, hungry, cold and lone! 
Know this, sure: their feeblest cry 
Shall rise unto the Heavens, high. 
And every rude, untimely tomb 
Shall nearer bring the day of doom! 
The cup of wrath doth overflow. 
Judgment thunders, rumbling low. 
Shall drive from earth war's brutal lust. 
And break its engines into dust. 

Christ of Gethsemane ! Speak, now ! 
To Thee let Kings and Captains bow! 
Speak, in Thy might, the regnant word: 
"Put up thy sword! Put up thy sword!" 



17 



THE WHITE, THE RED, THE 
STAR-SET BLUE 

HOW brightly it gleams, like a lofty light 
High hung to illumine the nation's night. 
Overhead, like a flower on its stem it sways. 
Every stripe pointing straight to the better ways. 
It is freedom's own flower and the heart of the earth 
Long nourished the seed that hath given it birth. 

We love thee, 
O, banner of freemen, true. 
Our flag, white and red 

With the star-set blue! 

Fair flag of our country, glorious, free. 

Far flung be thy colors o'er land and sea! 

For, lo, thou art Liberty's foremost sign 

Of progress and justice and right, divine! 

Thy stars, as they beam through the field of blue, 

Are like to the stars shining over us, true! 

We love thee, 
O, banner of freemen, true. 
Our flag, white and red 

With the star-set blue! 

Alone to the forces of hate and ill. 

To footsteps that blast, to the hands that kill. 

Our flag flings defiance. By brave men borne 

It signals to foemen their wrath and scorn. 

For right shall be might where the people reign. 

Where floats our proud ensign that knows no stain. 

18 



We love thee, 
O, banner of freemen, true. 
Our flag, white and red 

With the star-set blue ! 

No tyrant bears sway underneath its stars. 
To woman or man there are set no bars. 
For human equality standeth still 
Supreme in the might of the people's will. 
For memories, brave, writ on all its folds. 
For promise of good every symbol holds, 

We love thee, 
O, banner of freemen, true. 
Our flag, white and red 

With the star-set blue! 

Hail, glorious flag! From thy stately height. 
Wave on in thy beauty for God and Right ! 
So clear be thy colors, so pure their glow. 
Thy shining shall banish the base and low. 
And lift to new levels of wisdom and might 
The land that we love, with its ensign bright ! 

We love thee, 
O, banner of freemen, true. 
Our flag, white and red 

With the star-set blue! 



19 



RING TRUE. O BELL! 

(The bell of All Soul's Church in IVashinglon was made by the revolutionary patriot, 
Paul Revere. ) 

RING true, O bell, 
In thine old and ivied tower 
Sound thy call at worship's hour. 
Let the country's rulers hear 
The patriot call of Paul Revere! 

Long, long ago. 
With skillful hand he fashioned well 
Thy brazen round, O, ancient bell ! 
Through thee his clarion summons rings. 
Still calls to strife for better things! 

Ring high, O bell. 
Let thy swelling music grow. 
Drown clamor of the mean and low. 
Catch the note of heavenly chimes 
To heal the discords of the times! 

Ring low, O bell. 
Catch the sob of earth's distressed, 
Bid it stir the ruler's breast. 
When lowly bowed in worship's hour. 
To rightly use God's gift of power ! 

Ring clear, O bell. 
When sounds of tumult, strife and greed 
Confuse the calls of human need. 
When counsels bring not faith or light, 
Sound one clear note for God and Right! 

20 



Ring on, old bell, 
Long ere the spark, electric, bore 
Instant thought from shore to shore. 
Thrilled tidings from thy iron tongue 
O'er storied walls of Washington ! 

Still, peal on peal. 
Voice spirit of that earlier age. 
Our country's chiefest heritage. 
Till far-off people learn thy tone 
And make our fathers' faith their own I 



21 



SEQUENCES OF ERRORS 

THE surf to-night is heavy, 
It breaks with thunderous rol 
Like sequences of errors 

Whose memories shake my soul. 
Far out beyond my vision. 

Some cause I cannot name 
Gave force to yonder breaker, 
InroIHng Hke a flame. 

Even so, some sin or failure. 

Far back along life's path. 
Gave fury to the tempest 

That falls on me in wrath. 
Once, I could curb the error 

But, now, cannot restrain 
Force gathered since I gave 

That wayward impulse rein. 

The very air seems heavy. 

Charged with a weight of woe. 
For tragedy has fallen — 

Fallen like a sudden blow. 
Who knoweth its beginning? 

Was it in scandal's breath? 
What trifles in their keeping. 

Hold ruin, wreck and death! 

To loose the rock is easy. 

Along the mountain trail ; 
But who can stay its falling 

Far down the pleasant vale? 
Then soul, O, soul, be wary! 

So slight the rock, the wave. 
So strong to drive ashore 

A wreck — or dig a grave! 

22 



IN MEMORIAM 
HEROES OF THE TITANIC 

OUT of the night leaped the sword of the North ! 
In silent might its cruel edge struck forth. 
While not a sound of warning swept the seas 
Where sailed the Titan ship — man's master-piece. 

Hast thou a prayer? Lift, now, thy voice on high! 
Pray! for the iceberg's chilling breath is nigh. 
God save the ship — let it safe pathway find, 
For, lo, it beareth men of kingly kind! 

Too late for plea or prayer ! Yet God is just. 
And when the ice-spears made their fatal thrust 
He bade them touch soul-depths — the vital flame 
That burns away man's selfishness and shame. 

Then bright against the background of our woe. 
Limned in such glory all must know. 
Flashed forth as with the stroke of flint on steel 
God's noblest work — humanity's Ideal. 

Unblenchingly, they strove with Death that night — 
Strove to save ; to keep their honor bright. 
In highest sacrifice wrought out God's plan : 
To give, once more. His measure of a Man. 



23 



THE LITLE GREY POSTMAN 

THE Little Grey Postman traveled his rounds, 
While the summers faded, o'er and o'er; 
And grey was his horse and grey was his cart 
And grey was the coat that he wore. 

He was slender and old, but, twice every day. 

His whistle was heard without fail. 

In sunshine or snow it sounded away. 

For, come what would, there came always the mail. 

A rosy-cheeked maiden stood oft at the gate 
For the letter her lover would send every day. 
And the little old man seemed always late 
To the heart that beat so eager and gay. 

She smiled and she sang as the days went out. 
But the postman wore neither smile nor frown. 
For, if no letter came, he knew without doubt. 
That the lover, himself, was in town. 

So passed the days until one brought change ; 
The grey pony stopped at the gate, unbid. 
While the postman murmured, " 'Tis passing strange 
In what package that letter of hers can be hid." 

It may be that he missed the sunny brown locks. 
But he only jogged on in the shimmering noon. 
Nor gave sign that he heard, at the corner box. 
The softly sweet strains of a wedding tune. 

Did it matter to him that lovers were wed — 
That a sweet face waited his coming no more? 
There were stories like that every day, to be read 
In the bundles of mail that the little cart bore. 

So, year in and year out rode the little grey rig 
In the treadmill of duty, impassive and grim^ — - 

24 



The faithful old pony, the ratthng old gig. 
The old leathern pouch and the postman slim. 

Until, wistfully waiting, once more to the gate. 
Came the maiden remembered, tho' girlhood had gone. 
And she looked for her letter, or early or late, 
As she tended her children, at play on the lawn. 

Did the old mcin mark on his silent ride. 
How she counted those days of waitmg and stram? 
Did he wonder if love or the lover had died. 
If husband or home would come ever again? 

Was he glad when it came — that letter so late? 
Well he knew the bold script of the lover's hand. 
Though he saw on its face, as he stopped at the gate. 
The odd blue stamp of a foreign land. 

O, the heart beat true, 'neath the old grey vest. 
To the lovers that loved through trials untold. 
And none ever knew what the old man guessed 
Of the letter that came from the land of gold, 

For soon the worn rig and the old man grey 
Went jogging along on their beat no more. 
A long delayed message came one day 
And its face the stamp of the Home-land bore. 

He laid down his pouch and sent m his report: 
"Send another man out my place to fill." 
And the little grey craft came swift to port — 
The heart 'neath the blue grey coat grew still. 



But the little grey postman who carried the mail 
While the years went round and the children grew. 
Still holdeth a place that cannot fail 
In the hearts of those who knew. 

25 



AILEEN OF PRAIRIE RONDE 

FAIR was she as a spring bloom 
Made for sunshine, not for gloom, 
Aileen of Prairie Ronde. 
A country maiden, simple, true. 
With sunny, smiling eyes of blue, 
Aileen of Prairie Ronde. 

Farmer folks her parents were. 
Cared not for city life and stir. 

Serene in Prairie Ronde, 
They planted, harvested, and smiled 
To think their thrift should serve their child- 

Aileen of Prairie Ronde. 

Rode to the ranch one summer day 
A lover fine with manner gay. 

O, she was proud and fond ! 
None wondered he, so grand and tall. 
Should choose the fairest rose of all, 
Aileen of Prairie Ronde. 

The friends who loved her smiled to see 
Her eyes grow bright with love, for she 

Was loved of all around. 
And oft those summer days 'twas said 
A lucky lad he'd be to wed 

Aileen of Prairie Ronde. 

When autumn came, all lover-wise 
With promises and soft goodbyes 

That seemed to seal their bond. 
So fine, so faJse, so cruel kind. 
He went, and left, forlorn, behind, 

Aileen of Prairie Ronde. 

26 



From north or south came never word, 
From east or west was never heard. 

Or message, sight or sound. 
Then paled her cheek and drooped away 
The bonny girl once bright and gay — 

Aileen of Prairie Ronde. 

No skill could save, no loving art 
Availed to heal the broken heart. 

So pure, so true, so fond. 
And soon, oh soon, the snowflakes light 
Draped her couch with purest white — 

Aileen of Prairie Ronde. 

Whene'er I see a lily's snow 
Crushed by careless foot lie low, 

I think of that white mound 
And that false heart doomed to regret. 
Let fate forbid it to forget 

Aileen of Prairie Ronde. 



27 



A RETROSPECT 

I HAVE looked on life with the eye of a child 
Whose heaven was made when his mother smiled, 
And the truths that were true to me that day 
In the tears of the next were washed away. 

I have looked on life from the rosy glade 
Where it shines for the eyes of man and maid. 
Till the daily friction of labor and care 
Has stolen the bloom it was wont to wear. 

I have looked on life through the parent's eye 
When love pulses warmly and hope beams high. 
But when pathways grew rough for the tender feet 
Then, the cup of my joy was but bitler-stveei. 

I have looked on life from the winner's place 

On a glorious day in a worthy race. 

Yet, broken and lame in my clumsy shoes 

I have gone away, humbly, with those who lose. 

Youth perceives only life's sunshine and light. 
Dull age, but the shadows of coming night. 
Still I hope, in some realm of perennial youth. 
To view it, at last, from the standpoint of truth. 

Mirrored but darkly by prophet and seer. 
The riddle of life is not yet clear. 
None know how our credits and debits will look 
When open-eyed Justice shall balance her book. 



28 



MEMORIAL ROSES 

I WILL not mourn that I cannot lay 
White roses of love on thy grave, to-day, 
For I learned in thy life, beloved, to know 
In what fields the soul's white roses grow — 
Fields, where the hot yellow harvests cry 
For sacrifice, full, and courage high. 
I would weave thee a chaplet of these alone — 
Flowers in the fields of service grown ! 



29 



THE NATAL TIE 

THE sun never loosens its grip on the beams 
That stray, far and wide, over deserts and streams. 
Born in its deeps, one in substance and name. 
Forever they are fed from its bosom of flame. 

The sea never loses one breath of the mist 
That is woo'd from the billow^ the sun hath kissed. 
From its play in the rill, from the iceberg's long sleep. 
To the end, it is bound for its home in the deep. 

The heart of the parent never loses its child 
Though he sleep in the cradle or wander the wild. 
The love, that once bound at the dear home hearth. 
Shall bind them, for aye, in Heaven or earth. 

So the Heavenly Arm, that encircles to save. 
Will hold fast His own through death and the grave. 
From his birthright, divine, no power shall part. 
The soul anchored safe in the Father's heart. 



30 



"HE IS RISEN" 

(sT. JOHN 24th chapter) 

THEY were blessed who walked by the Saviour's side 
Over Palestine's plains, by Tiberias' tide. 
Who at Jordan's shore heard the voice from above. 
Saw the Spirit's descent in the form of a dove. 
In whose presence His feet trod on Galilee's wave 
And who heard him call Lazarus forth from the grave. 

They were blessed who received benedictions of peace. 

When from death and the grave He had won his release. 

While His measureless love and all gifts of His grace 

Shone upon them from His glorified face; 

But the blessing of blessing is kept for the eyes 

Of those unto whom, in His light, Christ doth rise 

To shine in their hearts, once in darkness and sin. 

To reign on the throne of His kingdom within. 

Since those, unto whom He appeared from the grave. 

Were sent forth by His mandate to seek and to save. 

Let not hearts upon which He has risen be slow 

To work for the Master wherever they go. 

"Lo, I will be with you even unto the end!" 

Is His promised word — our Redeemer and Friend. 



31 



MY FATHER'S PRAYER 

OFT, in retrospect, I see this picture fair unfold. 
In heart it holds a sacred niche, all framed in 
memory's gold: 
A newly risen sun sends forth its freshest morning rays 
Across the long, green levels, into narrow woodland ways; 
On snowy breakfast cloth the plenteous morning meal is spread; 
Soft silence broods, a space, the Holy Word is read ; 
The gathered household lowly kneel, and, on the morning air, 
I seem to hear, once more, the echo of my father's prayer. 
All incomplete the words of penitence and faith and praise. 
And, yet, like stars from darkness shining, here and there, 

a phrase 
Comes ringing down the years to one, who through them all. 
Believes the good he prayed for doth in blessing on us fall. 
O, heart of mine, forget it not — that dear, old-fashioned prayer! 
But lowly bowed, in deed and truth, each wise petition share. 



32 



LOVE RULES 

A HYMN 

I KNOW not why so often 
The shadows o'er me dwell, 
But one who loves me ruleth. 
And therefore all is well. 
All is well. 
Yes, surely all is well. 
Love rules and all is well. 

My soul still questions sadly. 
Of sorrow, pain and loss. 

Though all their glorious meaning 
Is shining from the cross: 
All is well. 

Yes, surely all is well. 

Love rules and all is well. 

soul, so slow in learning 
Thy part to do God's will! 

Though weary, troubled, weeping. 
Have hope, have faith. Know stil 
All is well. 
Yes, surely all is well. 
Love rules and all is well. 

1 choose Thee ! Yet my Father, 

Crave still the worldly show. 
O cleanse me. Rule me wholly. 

So I, through grace may l(non> 
All is well. 
Yes, surely all is well, 
Love rules and all is well. 



33 



CALIFORNIA POPPIES 

SOME sparks of California gold 
Grew vital in her teeming mold 
And sent soft clinging leaflets up. 
Each folding close a golden cup. 
All hidden till the warm showers came, 
When, lo, the foot-hills seemed aflame! 
And poppy fields in yellow grace 
Draped round the lofty mountain's base, 
A fair and fitting floral sign 
Of golden wealth in field and mine. 



34 



IN HIS HAND 

I TRUST. I do not understand. 
I give me to my Maker's hand. 
He knows the metal He has made — 
What heat will temper this crude blade. 
And not one whit too soon or late 
Will send the messenger of fate. 
His key may ope that way or this, 
I'll not complain: my time is His. 



35 



THE UNFAILING GUIDE 

THOUGH winds may be contrary, give thee no rest, 
Though waves may repel thee or haste thy behest; 
Not aught of it matters. He chooseth for thee 
Who once stilled the tempest on far Galilee. 

He knew there were young ones and weak ones and frail 
And erring, whose faith, like Peter's would fail, 
And He holds them all safe. His, the way. His, the sea. 
His, also, the Port where the storm-tossed would be. 

His moonbeams stray not through the aisles of the night; 
His star-worlds miss never their orbits of light; 
And not less shalt thou, though a child of the dust. 
Be held of the Spirit in Whom is thy trust! 



36 



RESURRECTION HYMN 

SOUND forth your harps, below, above. 
Sing praises to Almighty Love! 
Lo, Death is dead and Life is born 
This morn of blessing — Easter morn ! 

Declare, O sun and bud and bloom, 
The broken bonds of nature's tomb! 
While pulsing life each leaf-bud swells. 
Ring bells of Easter, lily bells! 

Since Christ arose, we, too, shall rise. 
Then sing, ye hills of Paradise ! 
Let praises every tongue employ, 
O, joy immortal, Easter joy ! 



n 



SONG OF JOCHEBED— MOSES' LULLABY 

SLEEP, child, within thy bed of rushes, 
Sleep sweet while wind and wavelet hushes; 
For One shall pluck thee from the waters 
Who sees the tears of Israel's daughters. 
He feeleth all our grief and sighing, 
He knows our love and faith undying; 
His guard around thee — more than regal. 
Holds thee safe as the young eagle. 

Refrain: Sleep sweetly — angel bands are near 
To safely fend from foe or fear; 
To smg to thee, songs soft and low. 
Such songs as only angels know; 
To hold thee, fold thee, guard thee well. 
My son, my hope for Israel — 
The hope, the hope of Israel. 

To Egypt's wrath thou art not given, 
I yield thee to the love of Heaven. 
My heart shall shrink not, fail nor falter 
To lay thee here as on an altar. 
Through thee, as in the ancient story. 
Our God shall manifest His glory. 
And though the yellow Nile may rock thee, 
Pharoah's gods shall never mock thee. 

Still lives the God of Israel's mothers. 
Whose sorrows rise beyond all others. 
His promise holds that arms of her 
Shall cradle the Deliverer; 
And in my soul a voice revealing 
Proclaims thee for the people's healing. 
His truth abides; His word hath spoken; 
The bonds of Jacob shall be broken. 

38 



NATURE 

WHO loves not Nature hath not walked with her 
Beneath the stars, beside the murmuring sea, 
Among the flowers or in the fragrant woods. 
Hath not, with quiet heart and mind, traversed 
The peaceful windings of a country road 
Where every wild rose wears a welcoming smile. 
The worried hearts and hurried feet that pass 
Consider not the lilies, how they grow. 
Or they must love fair Nature's changing show — 
Her tender moods, her apple blooms and rose, 
The graceful willows drooping over banks 
Where rippling brooks go singing toward the sea. 
Gold of sunsets, rainbow arch and cloud 
Of sun-kissed whiteness hint of Heaven above. 
Of undreamed beauty in the Land of Love. 



39 



CALIFORNIA— A PICTURE 

CALLAS and roses and white marguerites. 
Scent of the oranges' blossoming sweets. 
Stately magnolias shedding perfumes. 
Palm trees gracefully waving their plumes. 
Fig trees spreading their branches wide. 
Cushions of green where the violets hide. 
Green, spreading vales with their verdurous vines 
Entwining the trunks of odorous pines! 

Soft rolls the fog from the canyon deeps. 
Purples the robe of the rock-covered steeps. 
Changes the radiant hues of the day. 
Darkens the green, turns the blue into gray ! 
Riot of color and sheen of the sun 
Fade! and the beautiful day is done — 
Gone with its grace, its glow and its glee — 
Day in this land by the western sea. 



40 



APOSTROPHE TO THE HUDSON 

BEAUTIFUL river, dream of my dreams, 
I sail on thy brightness, I gaze on thy gleams. 

And no wonder have I 

That, in years gone by. 

Brave men of my blood 

Should have sailed o'er the flood 
To hew them out homes by thy side. 
Then, as now, thou wert fair as a bride. 

Trailing from thy jeweled crown. 

The gray fogs drape thy gown. 

By far-off sunbeams kissed 

Thy fair veil's changing mist 
With feathery, floating softness fills 
The glory and strength of thy castled hills. 

Bright river of beauty, of song and of fame. 
Since Hudson discovered and gave thee thy name. 

How humanity's tides 

Have surged at thy sides! 

And Fulton's high dream. 

When he harnessed the steam 
To the fleets of the sea, made conquest complete; 
And lo, the round earth lays its gifts at thy feet! 

Changeless the grace 

Of thy classic face! 

And thy green hills shall stand 

The pride of the land — 
Where its noble have lived, where its poets have trod. 
And learned, in thy smile, of the beauty of God. 



41 



ON MOUNTAIN TOPS 

( IVritlen on the summit of Tennessee Pass, Colorado, where the Waters oj 
the Atlantic and Pacific divide.) 

THOU givest life that man may rise 
Toward Thee, O Lord, and Thy pure skies. 
May upward mount, on eagle wings. 
And join the song all Nature sings. 
Why dwelleth he, in groveling ways. 
When peaks on peaks rise up to praise? 
Why sink in damps, unblessed of sun, 
When waters, pure and shining, run 
To show their joy in serving Thee 
As they rush onward to the sea? 
O Thou, whose miracle uplifts 
These rocks and ridges, mounts and cliffs. 
Teach us by miracle to know 
The path in which our souls may grow 
To join these hills and water-ways 
In praise for growth and growth to praise ! 



42 



INSEPARABLE 

MOURN not too much o'er broken ties. 
Safe, at the journey's ending, Hes 

Sweet Heaven's rest. 
The hearts that love are Hfeaven-sent 
To scatter forth the blessings lent. 

At God's behest. 
As part twm drops, on mountain peak. 
To shed on plains and forest bleak, 

Moisture and bloom — 
One east, one west, afar and free. 
Until they meet in cloud or sea — 

Their primal home, 
So loved and loving hearts may fare. 
Apart, o'er rocks and deserts, bare. 

Rejoiced to give 
To thirsty lips, in time of need. 
The cup of water — blessed meed — 

That bids men live. 
Nor north, nor south, nor low, nor high. 
Much matters to the wings that fly 

Like Noah's dove. 
So blind, so sure, through storm and dark. 
Onward, toward home, the peaceful ark 

Of God's great love. 
Such ties are of the spirit born. 
By time or distance never torn. 

O Love Divine, 
The ways that part but lead to Thee, 
The struggles brave, the labors free. 

Perfect, refine! 
Ties hold, unbroken ; tension, true. 
Brings back to love, its own, its due. 

In days to come. 
Like drops that meet m Ocean's breast. 
So love, with Love, shall find its rest 

In Heaven's home. 
43 



EVER PRESENT 

LIKE a swife-flying journey, our days speed along; 
There is sorrow and work, there is laughter and song; 
But never a voyage so dull or so fair 
But it needeth the grace of an answered prayer. 
In depths or in heights, storm or sun, work or strife, 
O, hear our petitions. Thou God of all life! 

If amid fragrance and peace, along blossoming shores, 

Enwrapt in soft airs, we abandon our oars. 

Awake us to action, make fit for the gale 

And bear up the weak craft in which we must sail. 

That we, in the battle, may voice forth Thy psalms 

And find peace amid strife, O, Thou God of the calms. 

When night, in its blackness, uncovers no star. 

When lightnings flash keen and dread thunders jar, 

'Mid quakings of earth and the hurricane's breath. 

In hours of alarm — eye to eye, we and death, 

Our timorous souls, from the furies that swarm. 

Hide Thou in Thy stronghold. Lord God of the storm! 

When, through wearisome days, we've made ready the soil 
And sowed the good seed with full measure of toil. 
From weeds and from rust, from blight and from hail. 
May our fields be protected, that food may not fail! 
Let sunshine and moisture develop the grains — 
O ripen our harvests. Thou God of the plains ! 

If we sink in unwholesome, malarious vales. 

Until, soul-sick and sin-sick, the strength in us fails. 

Lift us up, like Thy mountains; give us power to bestow 

Shelter and blessing to dwellers below ! 

O, teach us to live far beyond petty ills. 

Nearer Thee and Thv Heaven, Lord, God of the hills! 

44 



SUNSET BY THE SEA 

LIKE diamonds a-quiver the great sea's breast 
Is flashing afar towards the measureless west. 
Undisturbed by the clamor and clash of the tide 
The butterfly boats of the fishermen ride. 
Across the blue bay where the shadows lie 
Catalina's grey peaks greet the sunset sky. 
O'er the purple and pink-robed hills awhile 
Lingers the sun with a parting smile — 
A swift-fading smile that leaves never a spark 
As the tossing waves grow dense and dark. 

The isles disappear at the touch of the brush 
Of the artist who sails in the twilight's hush, 
Painting new scenes on land, sea and sky 
As evening and day-time greet and pass by. 
The stars shine forth from the darkening dome. 
The waves loom black 'neath their caps of foam, 
And we watch all alone — the stars and I — 
With the sounding sea and the silent sky. 



45 



H 



AFTER THE RAIN. 

OW blue is the sky. 
Like an infant's eye ! 
How the emeralds beam from each leaf on the tree! 
Now the rain-washed air 
With a clearness rare. 
Sweeps down from the mountain and up from the sea. 

It has brushed the green pine 

On the high mountain line. 
It is filtered by passing the crystalline veil 

That envelopes the height 

Where the frost-wings light. 
And down ladders of sunshine it reaches the vale. 

Every lily lifts up 

Its gold-centered cup. 
And the grass of the rain-swept lawns shines fair. 

On the clover and rose 

And the violet glows 
The joy of the breath of the life-giving air. 

Upon lofty Mount Lowe 

There are ribbons of snow; 
Below, there are streamlets that laugh, as they run. 

With the shadows that slide 

Down the green valley side 
Where the oranges hang red-ripe in the sun. 

Hear the joy of the birds 

Told in songs without words. 
Breathe the mingled elixir of mountain and sea ! 

Ever, sun follows rain ; 

So there's joy after pain ; 
Therefore smile while all nature is smiling on thee! 

46 



THE LESSON OF THE 
MOUNTAIN TOP 

FROM childhood I have loved to mark 
Each phase that nature wore. 
And longed for wings to fly afar 
O'er mountain, sea and shore — 
Afar from prairies stretching wide. 

Where peaceful rivers run — 
That vast mid-land 'twixt the seas. 

Whose corn fields greet the sun. 
I longed to spread the cloud-ships' sails 

And float with them away. 
To see the ocean, lashed with storm. 

And feel the salt sea's spray. 
I longed the mountain peaks to scale. 

To find the lofty spot. 
Above the clouds and near the sky 

Where toil intrudeth not. 
That I might breathe, with all my soul, 

The solemn rapture in 
And feel that I and all God's works 

And God, Himself, are kin. 
And He, Who gives the hungry bread. 

The thirsty, cooling streams. 
Has lent man power to scale the heights 

Where nature's grandeur gleams 
Beside the glorious skill of man. 
Who caught the electric spark, 
Ascends the mountains by its might. 

Makes luminous the dark. 
Now, by its power, I tread the heights 
While cloud-waves roll below, 
47 



The world of work and worry hid 

Beneath their breasts of snow. 
I view the canyon's yawning deeps. 

By storm and earthquake torn, 
The rocks where gold and silver hide. 

The depths where clouds are born. 
Like vast cathedral aisles, they call 

My soul to solemn calm. 
Clad in the glory of the pines. 

They chant a holy psalm. 
I catch a lofty, far off note. 

Beyond the song of birds 
Or whispering pines, and feel the spell 

Of meaning passing words. 
The sunlight melts the clouds away. 

The level valleys shine 
As free from roughness, hill or vale 

As yonder water line. 
The uplift of the hills forbids 

Our eyes to see the ways 
Where rocks and ridges weary us 

Through long and toilsome days. 
So, hath the balm from heights, serene. 

Where lofty spirits dwell. 
Oft healed the wounds that life hath made 

And soothed us by its spell. 
O rock, to rock the message bear, 

O, clap your hands, ye hills. 
That man, to man may speak the word 

Your broad horizon thrills! 
Let spires of rock and pine cry out 

To men, "Climb upward! Grow 
Beyond the mole-hills where ye faint. 

So weak, so lost, so low!" 
O, Thou, who from the mountain side 

48 



Taught men the path to Hght, 
Thou knowest the feet too weak to chmb : 

O bear us the height! 
And send to us the spark, Divine, 

Our souls to energize. 
Lift from the sod to hills of God — 

Green hills of Paradise! 



49 



THE SEA MOTHER'S SONG 

HUSH, hush, hush! 
The Sea Mother's song is a lullaby long. 
Her cradle rocks east and her cradle rocks west. 
It swings and sways, at the waves' behest. 
With the babes of the sea in their pearl-lined nest. 

Hush, hush, hush! 
This song does she sing, as the great waves swing 
Her restless babes in their toilsome arms; 
And they heed not at all the sea's alarms; 
Not a fear have they of its haps and harms. 

Hush, hush, hush! 
If the sea babies cry when their cradle swings high— 
If they cry for a piece of the round, yellow moon. 
Her lullaby song she will croon and croon — 
The Sea Mother's song from noon to noon : 

Hush, hush, hush ! 



50 



THE WAKING OF SPRING IN THE NORTH 

THE children are waiting and watching for Spring, 
The birds are waiting, too cold to sing. 
The young calves stand lowing beside the hay. 
The lambkins are calling from far away. 
What keeps her so long — has the frolicsome maid 
Paused to play, all this time, with the winds on the glade? 
In her gray-green robe she has fallen asleep, 
And the lambkins' call nor the bird's "cheep, cheep!" 
Will cause her to wake or to open her eyes. 
"I will arouse her," the brooklet cries, 
As it breaks from the ice and ripples clear. 
But the Spring keeps napping. She will not hear. 
"Wake up, wake up!" cries a whistling breeze. 
And he rings the bells in all the trees. 
Then, the shivering young things all sob and cry 
Till the mist of their tears rises up to the sky. 
The South Wind awakes with a mighty frown. 
He flaps his great wings to shake the mist down. 
And it falls in great drops — drops of warm, soft rain. 
Each soft little hammer keeps tapping the plain. 
Till the frost is driven from farm and field 
And the great ice bridges melt and yield — 
When, lo, we look up and the rain is gone. 
While there, wide awake. Spring smiles in the sun! 



51 



THAT CAT 

RAT that cat!" said Tom, "I drove 
It off a dozen times or more. 
And here it is a-mewing, now. 
Right at the kitchen door." 



"D 



Tom hurled a stick to scare it hence. 
And sat him down, when from the front 

Came shrieking tones: "I've tried to drive 
That cat away and go it wont." 

Then Lou put on her leather gloves. 

(Cats in that house were taboo.) 
She bore it bravely to the barn, 

"And now it can't get back," said Lou. 

She shut the doors and stopped the holes. 
Thought not how swift a kitten goes. 

While pausing at the kitchen door 
Where Bridget washed the clothes. 

"And what will I be doin', plaze? 

How can I wurruk wid the wee baist 
Under me feetV quoth she, and pushed 

The cat aside with high distaste. 

Then Lou stood speechless quite a space — 
"I'm beat," she owned, and "I'll be switched. 

Called Tom, "If I don't half believe 
That brindled feline is bewitched." 

But pa and ma — they only laughed 
At Lou's poor sight and her slow pace. 

"Quick as a cat you'll have to be," 
They said, "to beat one in a race." 

52 



Then, ma pulled out the middle drawer 
(The table linen there we keep). 

And snugly in the whiteness there 
That wretched kitten lay asleep. 

Then pa and ma and Tom and Lou 
Were ready to believe the worst, 

But finding space behind the drawer. 
They knew the cat had found it first. 

Yet, an uncanny feeling stayed 
And we were weary of that cat. 

And very cautiously locked up 

Our doors and windows after that. 

One night the cat was out all safe, 
Lou drew the window up to see. 

And there with slant eyes, all alike. 
She saw not one striped cat — but three. 



53 



THE CHALLENGE OF THE SEA 

HO, landsmen ! See my ranks advance ! 
On, to the fray they leap, they prance; 
Their white plumes toss the spray aside. 
In glistening uniform they ride! 
Proud flash their spears! In serried bands, 
With rush and roar they lash the sands; 
For now my warrior waves ride high 
And the screaming winds in panic fly ! 
I am the Sea and my high will. 
All these, my vassals, shall fulfill ! 

Bow low, ye haughty hills of earth, 

I tossed ye from my bosom forth ! 

One onslaught of my maddened waves 

Would send your dust to line my caves. 

For continents lie buried where 

My sea nymphs trail their yellow hair. 

My soldiers fall. They never die. 

And none are missed when tides ride high ! 

I am the Sea ! Rouse not my ire, 

I toy with thunders, laugh at fire ! 

See my white chargers leap and neigh 

And fling their manes of silver spray! 

From cavern deeps where they are born 

They ride in wrath, they curl in scorn ! 

From deep sea towers, great bells of doom 

Ring warnings forth: "Make room! Make room!" 

I am the Sea — the regnant Main ! 

I brook no bar. I wear no chain ! 



54 



IN THE CONGRESSIONAL LIBRARY AT 
WASHINGTON 

HAD I a poet's gifts, with which to tell 
What subtle charm doth in these marbles dwell. 
Could this uplift of soul be put in word 
Or that which fills my eyes with tears be heard. 
Then would the voice of ages find a tongue. 
The stateliest psalm of history be sung; 

For down these many-pillared corridors — 
These carved memorials of work and wars. 
Resounds the tread of hosts, whose battle blade 
Protector stood of Law and Art and Trade, 
The echoes joining harmonies sublime 
To which the feet of ages have kept time. 

Here, writ in stone, beneath this golden dome. 

Art's changing story read ; find, too, the fitting home 

Of highest thought man ever, yet, in clay 

Or stone or book embodied. Read, and pay 

Fit meed to those whose skill has reared and set apart 

This shrine, this gem, this monument of art! 

Here, marbles bloom, with frozen flame, alight. 
And nobly link man's skill with Heaven's might. 
The mountain's heart has lent these hues to man. 
The frost and foam, the wave and cloud, his plan; 
And none may, blindly, through these arch-ways plod. 
Beyond the artist, is the artist's God. 



55 



THE PIONEER PASTOR 

A ND he has gone — that dear and saintly man 

To whom my youthful eyes were wont to look 
For light and guidance in the heavenward way. 
And I no more shall take the hand whose clasp 
Of friendship was so dear, nor e'er repeat 
The farewell oft renewed, as year by year, 
From devious wanderings, pilgrim-like, I came 
To that bright home set gem-like mid the green 
Far stretching prairie land. 

This grassy, breeze-swept, billowy plain. 
Untrodden and uncultured, met his gaze 
When with the adventurous band of pioneers 
He journeyed from their pleasant homes within 
The fair metropolis of the western world. 
Lone messenger of the Cross, he came 
To plant the banner of his Master here 
And gather 'neath its folds the wandering sheep 
Of that wild pasture — so many years ago. 
Not then, as now, with space-subduing power. 
Swift engines sped across the land; no spark 
Electric bound together east and west. 
Then, messages from sundered friends were long 
Delayed. Then they who chose a lot like his 
Spoke farewells that in this swift age are like 
To none save those^ — the last death grants to love. 
Yet, hand in hand, with her who shared his life 
He braved the hardships of the way, nor deemed 
Their sacrifice too great if thus he best 
Might serve the Lord. 

56 



O, self-indulgent heart. 
May kindling sparks from off the altar fires 
That rise in token of accepting grace 
Where consecrated lives like his are spent 
In holy service, quicken thine to like 
Devotion ! See him leave the city fair. 
Bright scenes of busy life and social joy, 
The shrines of learning and the haunts of art, 
The heavenward pointing spire, the Sabbath bell. 
Loved friends, and e'en the graves where slept 

the babes 
Beloved and early lost; then ask thine heart 
If such a spirit moves thy work for Christ. 
See him for love of Christ and of men's souls. 
In consecration full, forsaking all 
The fair surroundings of a Christian growth 
And culture germs of which he came to plant 
In these then western wilds. Behold him still. 
All unsustained by plaudits of the world. 
Steadfast pursue his self-denying toil. 
Not by a world-acknowledged estimate. 
Weighed he the work to which the Spirit called. 
Round him he drew the children of his flock 
And meekly taught them ; joyful if he thus 
Fulfilled the high conmiission of his King 
And followed in the steps of Him who taught: 
"The servant is not greater than his Lord." 

The fierce, frost-laden blasts of winter blew. 
And radiant springs unlocked the icy doors. 
The glowing summers strewed their prairie flowers. 
And autumns garnered in their sheaves of gold 
While Sabbath by Sabbath, unfaltering, he 
Proclaimed that Love's divine effulgence which 
Can melt the ice-barred doors of wintry souls 

57 



And bid them in eternal beauty bloom. 

He saw the harvest white, the laborers few. 

The sheaves of souls. In persevering love 

He prayed, "O, guide them to Thy Harvest home." 

All seasons heard the story of His love 

Whose Spirit guides the faithful lives 

Of men like him. He gleaned in harvests, scant 

But dear, unto the Shepherd, kind, who left 

The nine and ninety that he might reclaim 

One wanderer home into the fold. 

His eye grew dim. 
Age crowned his head with hoary locks, yet, still 
He taught. I see him now, as with bowed head 
He seeks a Father's benediction on 
The newly wedded; see him upon the infant head 
His hand in the baptismal blessing lay, 
And, yet again, by couch of pain repeat 
Blest words of comfort from the holy book. 
At loved ones' graves I hear his voice declare 
"I am the Resurrection and the Life." 
I cannot think him dead — that toiler, true, 
Whose meek awaiting of the summons preached 
In words more eloquent than speech the worth 
Of earnest lives. His voice is speaking, still. 
To shame, O sluggish soul, thy strivings weak. 
May He who kept that heart close to His own 
Through years of well-nigh thankless toil, grant us 
A touch that shall impel our lives henceforth 
To kindred service. 
O, not alone the sacrifice, is his. 
Nor yet the long and unappreciated toil. 
The crown, the blessing of the faithful waits 
For such, the Lord's "well done," the mansions, fair. 
Where Jesus is. Into thy life of ease, 

58 



Of worldliness, of care, receive, O, soul. 

The lesson of this great life, fitly closed. 

For Christ leave all, and having found thy work, 

Toil, trust, endure, if so God will. 

Esteem not earth but recompense divme. 

So shall thy sun, like his, go down in p>eace. 

Long shall his gracious memory abide. 

Touched with something of the glory 

Radiant from its rising over on 

The Heavenward side. 



59 



CALIFORNIA FREE 

TUNE AMERICA 

FOR California free — 
Dear home of liberty, 
Your voices raise! 
For victory long sought. 
For law, new-born of thought 
The Master lived and taught. 
Give God the praise! 

O, messenger of joy. 
Your highest notes employ. 

Till nations learn 
How men of might and will 
Bow down to justice still. 
Her mandate to fulfill 

Their chief concern. 

Hail onward march of right. 
Hail freedom's latest light. 

Her golden hour! 
Let justice rule the land, 
Her righteous codes command 
That give the mother's hand 

Just meed of power. 

Lead on, yield never place 
For subject sex or race, 

O glorious State! 
Plant firm on thy fair heights 
The flag of equal rights. 
For on its guiding lights 

The nations wait. 

60 



Let men through all our bounds 
Rejoice. Here Freedom sounds 

Her highest word. 
From mountain crests of snow, 
From flowered vales below 
Let grateful anthems flow. 

Praise we the Lord ! 



61 



THE PARABLE OF THE TREE 
A Tribute to Susan B. Anthony 

MY daily view, in years gone by, was o'er a 
spreading wood 
Where, high above a thousand of its kind, one 

great oak stood. 
Above the swaying trees in lofty loneliness it reigned, 
Untouched of axe, unscathed of fire, unhurt of 

winds that strained. 
So had it stood the wandering red man's resting 

place and shade, 
The guide of sturdy pioneers, ere, yet, the 

roads were made. 
Each year its roots took firmer hold upon the 

solid earth 
And higher stretched its giant arms with each 

new summer's birth. 
As if in benediction o'er a land it served so well 
That all the country side was poorer when the 

old oak fell. 

I looked on fields of life's endeavor, as on that 

woodland view ; 
Amid the changing crowd, stood one whose word and 

deed rang true — 
One lofty soul who from the height a wondrous 

vision caught 
And swerved not from it 'mid the clamor of 

opposing thought, 
Paused not for praise or blame but bravely wrought, 

through scorn and strife, 
To bring the rule of justice into human law and life. 

62 



The world had need of such a Hfe, Hfted on high 

to bless. 
Like signal set for sailor men amid the storm 

and stress; 
And when its light went out and men the far-borne 

message read, 
I sorrowed not that blessed rest enwrapped the 

honored dead. 
But that the sordid times should lose an ideal, 

true and rare. 
'Twas something more than sorrow — this was loss 

beyond repair. 
I felt the world was poorer for the standard — 

bearer gone; 
Humanity had lost a priceless jewel from its crown ; 
And something of the glory faded out of earth for me. 
As beauty fled the green wood when I missed the 

grand old tree. 



63 



THOSE TIRED EYES 

THEY hurt me, grieve me to the heart 
With their world-weary smile — 
Those eyes from which the buoyant hght 
Has faded while I watched awhile. 

Why should men live to crush the faith 
That is the holy right of youth. 

To break their trust in God and man 
And disappoint their hopes of truth? 

They kill the spark of friendly trust 
By business greed, and ruthless lies, 

Leaving to pierce the hearts that love 
Faces, yet young, with tired epes. 



64 



w 



LINES TO MY MOTHER 

FROM A world's EXPOSITION 

HAT marvelous things the world has done 
Since first I saw the Sabbath sun 
On that, to me, fateful March mom, 
Four decades since, when I was born ! 
What labors vast, achievements grand. 
Men of my day have wrought and planned ! 
Set here in panoramic view. 
They stir my heart to wonder new. 
And I thank God, as well I may. 
That I have seen this glorious day — 
Have been an atom in the throng 
That pushed the mighty work along. 
Though I have borne but meager part, 
I've welcomed every helpful art 
And kept my faith in coming good 
When Nature's conquered forces should 
Rend drudgery's chain and, strong and swift, 
At touch of genius, rise to lift 
The souls of men above the sod 
To bless their race and know their God. 
Joying in this and in glad thought, 
I, too, the breath of Progress caught, 
I pray, as still my course I run. 
To keep in sight its rising sun. 



65 



THE WHITE LINE 

I STOOD upon the steamer's deck. 
Around the wide, wide waters tossed. 
The boat seemed but a tiny speck, 

Amid the heaving billows lost. 
But, ever, as the tiny shell 
Sped on before the wind, 
I saw that on the darkness fell 
A straight white line, behind. 

O, such a speck as this is man. 

Tossed by each wind that blows, 
I thought; so short his span, 

I can but pray that those 
Who after us the course must take 

Upon life's changeful sea. 
As they sail forward in our wake 

That straight ivhite line may see. 



66 



IMAGINATION 

WHAT art thou, wilful, wandering sprite. 
With field so broad and wings so light? 
Thee no walls of stone can hold. 
No robber steal thy glistening gold, 
No darkness dim thy vision vast. 
No chain be forged to hold thee fast! 

Thou dost walk where anguish wails. 
Mid scenes at which the midnight pales, 
Weavest thy woof 'mid angry waves 
Or silence of forgotten caves. 
Of what strange substance art thou made — 
Joyless 'mid joy, in terror unafraid? 

From starry space no sound is heard. 
From gleam or gloom no answering word. 
Thy phantom craft sails past the stars. 
While I, in wonder press my bars. 
But, see, yonder a search-light dips 
To scan the sea for sailing ships! 

It is thy type, O, fleet and free. 
Searching mysterious voids for me, 
Turning thy light on deserts drear. 
Making slow Reason's path more clear. 
Bidding the skein of Fate unwind — 
I know thee. Search-light of the mind ! 



67 



THY STILL, DEEP HEART OF REST 

Owide blue ocean, in thy beauty dressed. 
We see the changing colors of thy pulsing breast, 
Thy furrowed shores by tireless arms caressed. 
But never sound thy still, deep heart of rest! 

So, striving men, like thee, misunderstood. 
Are seen storm-lashed and judged by surface mood, 
While they, in utter peace, beneath the flood 
Are held safe anchored in Eternal Good. 



68 



"J 



LITTLE FAIRY 

UST see how good I am," said Betty 
Reprovingly to brother. 
And, then, "Little Pharisee!" 

Smilingly responded Mother. 
But Betty, unreproved. 

Continued with great glee: 
"Did you hear what Mother said? 

I'm a little fairy — see?' " 



VIOLETS 

A TROOP of beauties is coming this way- 
Roses, daisies and buttercups gay ; 
And, while the proud ones don their plumes. 
The sweetest of all, the violet, blooms, 
Peeps upward through its hood of blue 
And shyly bows to me and you. 



69 



THE CRUCIFIED YEARS 

THE sceptre of work we threw, scornfully, down. 
Dreaming not that it meant both kingdom and crown. 
When life's sun rose high, in its light, we saw 
The road to a throne, and lo, work was its law! 
Then we cried to the Past, O, banish our age, 
Give us again youth's clean, white page! 
But there cometh not, for our cries and tears. 
Resurrection day of the crucified years. 



70 



LOVE AND CARE 

LIKE a winged dove, 
He came to rest beside my hearth, 
I counted not the waste or worth, 

"O Love, sweet Love!" 
My bosom glowed with warm content. 
With balm and bloom the air seemed blent, 

"Welcome, fair guest!" 
I cried, and knew his presence, dear. 
Held evermore life's hope and cheer. 

Its warmth and rest. 
For Love's sweet sake, I decked my rooms 
And made them fair with lily blooms 

That he might share. 
But, ere his wings found rest from flight, 
A shadow grey crept in from night. 

"O, cruel Care! 
Thou grizzled and unwelcome shade. 
Within this Eden Love has made. 

Why must thou fare?" 
I heard an answering whisper, low ; 
"Be still, O heart. Love must not know. 

For Love hath wings. 
And he shall mourn, or soon or late. 
Who fretteth at the shadow mate 

Love ever brings." 
Silent, I bowed, for then I knew 
The treasure and the trouble, due, 

May not divide. 
Since I from Love no more can part. 
Henceforth within my house and heart 

Guests twain abide. 



71 



MY DREAM 

I DREAMED, last night, of a strange wild ride. 
Ten strong, trusty men were riding beside. 
There was danger ahead, but no one gave heed 
Nor slackened the pace of his bounding steed; 
For we rode to a rescue with courage high — 
We rode to a rescue to win or die. 
We rode without pause, straight into the fray. 
Put captors to flight and brought, proudly, away 
The child we had plucked from death or thrall 
By speed, by strength and by daring all. 

Deep was my joy and exultingly, then, 

I spoke for myself and my dauntless ten: 

"To us, for this deed, let none dare to raise 

Voice of thanks, or a word of praise! 

We have our reward — it is fullest meed 

Once to risk all in a glorious deed — 

To put speed, courage and strength all in 

To fly to the battle and win — ah, to win!'' 

Even as I uttered the joy of my heart. 

Rose one sneering face from the crowd, apart. 

Whose scoffing look quenched my heart's high flame. 

Charged me with pride, and I waked — to shame. 

Then thrilling still with the glorious dream 

I questioned how it shall sometime seem, 

When self shall be vanquished, when failure is o'er. 

When faith is triumphant forevermore. 

When victory's thrill, when the glow of delight. 

The joy of the battle for God and the right. 

Shall quench every sneer and shall silence pride. 

Will we wish any palm or crown beside? 



72 



A NEW YEAR 

ANOTHER year! All masked it comes to me- 
A soulless segment of eternity. 
I cannot penetrate its guise or mood. 
Although so many of its flying brood. 
Unchecked, smce time and I bore company. 
Have wrought their will upon the world and me. 
Have linked, each unto each, a lengthening chain 
And borne me bhndly on through fret and stram. 

Good year, since thou and I must share the race. 

Why shouldst thou still conceal from me thy face? 

I may not count thee friend, nor, yet, a foe. 

For now a benediction, now a blow 

Thou'lt deal; but bring thou safety or a snare. 

Together thou and I must fare. 

I greet thee with no question, no delay; 

Thou hast exclusive franchise o'er my way. 

And I have none but to obey thy laws 
And ride thy chariots to the final pause. 
I know not if another of thy race 
Shall meet me with its veiled face 
When thou shalt pass, nor am I sure of thee. 
Since backward view alone is granted me. 
I cannot choose but trust thee without sign, 
O year, New Year, do good to me and mine! 



IZ 



FISHERMEN 

OLET us go a-fishing! 
We'll seek the shading vines 
And watch the circles widen 
Around the quivering lines. 

O, let us go a-fishing 

In wisdom's soundless sea 

And win with joy the riches 
It holds for you and me! 

O, let us go a-fishing 

Out in the world of men 

And hook to ours, securely, 
A true heart, now and then. 



74 



THE MEANING OF CHRISTMAS 

WHAT is the meaning of Christmas Day — 
The truth underlying the gifts we pay? 
Love — just love. 
Love is the word of the holy birth — 
The message it brings to a selfish earth, 
Love — just love. 

Worthless the gift of a heart that is cold — 
Worthless though fashioned of finest gold. 

Love — just love 
Ruleth the Christmas in spirit and form, 
Keepeth the heart like the hearth-fire warm — 

Love — just love. 

Love is the truth to the world made known 
When angels sang and the glory shone — 

Love — just love. 
Soul of all sweetness and help — the flame 
Kindled to banish earth's sin and shame — 

Love — just love. 

Cover it not with pretense or show. 

Christmas should be in the heart. Its glow — 

Love — just love. 
Bethlehem's cradle beams with its light. 
Calvary's cross proclaims its might — 

Love — just love. 



75 



CANST THOU BY SEARCHING FIND 
OUT GOD? 

(Joh) 

BID me not fathom depths of science, cold. 
Or seek trustworthy foothold for my faith 
In its abstractions, baseless, without God. 
I journey in a dark and slippery way 
And needs must find a sure hand-clasp, 

a Love, divine, or I am lost. 
Science is naught if it speak not God's voice — 
Its ponderous words of wisdom, meaningless 
As brookside babblings or as beat of drums. 
Religion, too, is worthless if it breathe 
Not love of God a child may understand. 
I hold this truth supremely blest and true: 
The way to God is straight and plain — the truth, 
Christ taught, so simple that a child's heart holds 
Its key. "Of such my Kingdom," says His word. 
They who would be wise beyond that word. 
Who seek in wizard chamber, ancient myths. 
In stars and rocks or oriental lore 
To find the truth to which the heart may hold, 
Are wandering from its light in places dark. 
The wisdom of this world is foolishness 
With God; and when the Master walked below. 
He set a little child before the throng — 
Before the self-sufficient, wise and strong — 
And bade them come, as little children do. 
To Him in love and faith unquestioning. 
We are not bid to understand, but trust. 
Trust, not wisdom, soothes the soul's alarms 
And like the lost sheep on the mountains cold. 
Our only safety is the Shepherd's arms. 



76 



AN ANNIVERSARY OF SORROW 

BELOVED, as the shadows droop, my thoughts 
are far away 
Within that city of the dead, among the marbles grey. 
Where thou dost, still and silent, sleep while I, 

with aching heart. 
Strive, in life's noonday glare and heat, to bear and 

do my part. 
I would not break that blessed sleep by sigh or 

moan of mine; 
God gave thee rest, and, yet, to-night my heart 

cries out to thine. 
Knowest thou not I have locked up my sorrow, 

pain and tears. 
And wrought with cheerful, patient love, through 

all these lonely years? 
The years, complete this Sabbath night, have brought 

full meed of care. 
Of separation, loss, and tears in which thou hadst 

no share. 
The earth hath welcomed to her breast those who thy 

youth had nursed ; 
And I have said the last goodbye to those who loved 

me first. 
The grave hath claimed dear ones. Others have gone 

at Love's behest; 
For cherished firstlings of our brood have left the 

parent nest. 
Wee babes in new homes own, to-night, thy lineage 

and thy name. 
But wherefore call to thee? Would I disturb thy 

peaceful frame? 



Ah, no! nor stir thee with earth's chance and change, 

its loss and gain, 
Its watchings by the sick one's couch, its frequent 

touch of pain. 
Content, I kneel and pray, "God bless and for our 

loved ones care." 
And feel He hears us join in this, thy constant, 

latest prayer. 
And dare not doubt that round about our children — 

thine and mine — 
In storm or calm, the guardian angels' garments shine. 
And if an angel guard be set, shouldst thou not 

guard thine own? 
O, heart of mine, be still? Soon shall we know as 

we are known. 
Enough if, when with welcoming sweep shall ope the 

pearly gate. 
Together we may wake from sleep. For this, dear 

heart, I wait, I wait. 



78 



THE EMPTY CHAIR 

ABROAD green lawn that meets the road 
A spacious house in country mode, 
A honeysuckle climbing o'er 
The pleasant porch with broad stone floor. 

Beneath the shade, inviting there. 
Stands an empty, wide-armed chair. 
But, he who filled that chair of yore. 
Salutes the coming friend no more. 

The slanting shadows part and blend. 
The orchards with their fruitage bend; 
Still wave the tassels on the corn. 
The quail still calls his mate at morn ; 

But he who loved each field and hill 
Comes no more the chair to fill. 
Which love within that place keeps set — 
Token that love cannot forget. 

'Tis not revealed, we may not know 
If angels love like those below. 
If eyes, that Eden's glories greet. 
Look down to view that waiting seat. 

And, yet, mayhap, 'mid Heaven's love, 
Our sweet earth-ties the heart may move. 
Our loved, beyond the golden stair. 
Have set for us a waiting chair. 



19 



NIGHT AND SORROW 

SOB softly, O winds, o'er that grave afar. 
Shine mistily on it, O moon and star. 
Let tears, as they fall from night clouds o'erhead. 
Join mine as I mourn, mourn, mourn for my dead! 

The brightness of morn will soon gild yon dome. 
The light songs of birds Boat into my room; 
Then haste, moon and star and night-cloud acrost, 
To join while I mourn, mourn, mourn for my lost! 

I will work with good cheer, live, love while 'tis day. 
My grief shall be dumb, my tears put away; 
But wrapped in night's mantle, sad, silent and lone, 
Unforbid I may mourn, mourn, mourn for my own ! 

Night followeth day; Death vanquishes Life; 
Grief chasteneth Joy; this, this is earth's strife. 
When God's day shall dawn, when earth's night is o'er. 
Rejoice, I shall mourn, mourn, mourn nevermore! 



80 



I 



THE BROKEN SET 

OWNED a set of daintiest ware 
With decorations fit. 
In quality 'twas fine and rare — 

Each piece most exquisite; 
And in a fit receptacle 

Of carven oaken wood. 
Upon whose brightly polished shelves 

In tasteful rows they stood, 
I kept them dainty, fair and neat, 

With neither cracks nor nicks. 
To spread my board they were complete- 

A perfect set of six. 

But, one sad day, a heedless thing 

Caused one to slip. It fell. 
I heard the broken fragments ring — 

Ah, me, a knell, a knell! 
A little thing — not very sad — 

To break a perfect set? 
Others as fine are to be had> 

'Tis true, and yet, and yet. 
For tears I scarce my table see — 

Heart-breaking at the view. 
For where the broken bowl should be 

The chair is empty, too! 



81 



OUR CHILD 

HE came to our home like a soft, white dove 
And we learned in his eyes the lore of love. 

O, deep was our joy! 
For us, every morning, there blossomed new grace; 
Every day in our hearts made a tenderer place 

For the sweet, winsome boy. 
He smiled, and our love drew us closer to him 
Till the cup of our joy uprose to the brim — 

Such a treasure was ours! 
He grew, and we loved each dimple and line 
That twined round our hearts like a beautiful vine 

Decked fair with flowers. 
He walked, loosened the clasp of our hands one day. 
While we smiled nor dreamed he would further stray. 

So short was our sight! 
He spoke, and O, unto us be it given 
Those accents to hear in the music of Heaven, 

For hushed is our night! 
He left us — a dew-drop exhaled ere the noon, 
A bud which the Gardener took full soon 

To the gardens above. 
And so barren is earth we'd give all its vain charms 
To feel his dear head on our empty arms, 

O, child of our love! 
Earth cannot hold thee though May-day's bright 
Besprinkle thine earth-crib blossom white. 

Too cold is its breast. 
Thou livest, hast heard a sweet Voice calling "Come!" 
And art gone, like a lamb, with the Shepherd home 

In his bosom to rest. 



82 



LINKS IN LIFE'S CHAIN 
(read at a family meeting) 

TO-DAY, through memory's glass the cham appears 
Whose varied Hnks bind this to bygone years. 
Thought flies back, on wings most sure and fleet. 
Until it finds footprints of baby feet. 
Frail threads, as unsubstantial as a dream. 
Like cobwebs gemmed with morning dew, we seem 
To trace, now by life's fears and then by its charms. 
Away back to the cradle of mother's arms. 
Her clasp first linked us to the great unknown 
And gently led us from the shoreless zone 
Whence all life comes. Full many a link. 
Since then, has come to bind us to the world of men. 
Most fitting, though, it seems to us to-day. 
That first we pause, tribute to her to pay. 
Whose eyes were childhood's guiding stars, whose arms 
Our first unfailing shelter from life's harms. 
I know the wiser Mind, the truer Love, 
And, yet, so blind am I to things above, 
'Tis my heart's hope — and higher faith seems hid — 
That God will love me as my mother did. 
Fond memory leaps across the changeful way 
We came, as we, when children, crossed in play 
The rippling brook, stepping from stone to stone. 
Until it brings to mind our father's tone, — 
That voice with fine enthusiasm filled. 
Whose speech has oft our youthful spirits thrilled. 
So resonant of hopes that filled the time 
Of our first youth — his brave young manhood's prime. 
Enthusiasm fires our spirits, staid. 
Once more, as watered pastures, woodland shade, 

83 



Railroads, towns, rise up at his behest 

In childhood's Eldorado — the land "out West." 

Some would have clung to the old home, not I ; 

I would follow the shine in father's eye, 

And rejoice with him in each rolling field. 

In the orchard's growth and the timothy's yield, 

In all the good and gain each season brought. 

In those young days I never thought. 
As he told us of wealth in field and wood 
That his buoyant soul was our chiefest good. 
Ducklings will swim and birdlings leave the nest, 
And our parents' flock was like the rest. 
Full soon the home they dared to make 
And kept so sweet and sacred for our sake, 
Seemed to us but the branch where, poised elate. 
Each waited the call of a life-long mate. 
No link was sundered when the flight was made. 
Mother, father, sister, brother bade 
"God speed!" and so the links of love held strong, 
Although the parted years stretched full and long. 

How shall we link the years that went and came, 
The years that were, and yet were not the same? 
Each year, a few gray hairs, a shade of age 
To mark the growing numbers of life's page. 
Until the angel, dread, the pencil took. 
Wrote finis on the page and closed the book. 
Births, deaths, there were, with sorrow, 

pain and change. 
And only love grew never old or strange. 

When, with death's white peace upon each brow. 
Our parents slept, we knew, as we know now. 
Love is the final link upon life's chain 
That, yet, shall bind us to our own again. 



84 



THE GIFT WAS TOO FAIR 

WE had folded the bud in love's warm embrace 
And fondly were watching its unfolding grace, 
But the opening bud showed a soul so rare 
That the Good Giver saw His gift was too fair; 
So He sent down the angels to pluck it, one even. 
That the beautiful bloom might be perfect in Heaven. 



85 



A WELCOME 

WELCOME to thy lot and place 
Latest scion of thy race! 
Worthy bear thy fitting name, 
Cherish, faithfully, its fame — 
Heritage of centuries three 
Rests its honor, now, with thee ! 
Make thy life a marvelous dower 
Filled with growth and grace and power. 
Throughout all its granted span 
Serve and bless thy fellow man ! 



86 



BABY'S BOOK 

JUST a place and a date 
With a name and a weight — 
But it opens a record of weal or of woe, 
A record, unguessed, and that none may know. 
How far, little feet? 
Will't be slow or fleet? 
Will the road lie fair or must it cross 

Deserts of trial and chasms of loss? 

Not an answer slips 

From the rose-bud lips. 
Perhaps it is hope that smiles from them now. 
Mayhap, courage is writ on the fair white brow. 

Sure, a great wonder lies 

In the fathomless eyes 
Now gazing about them, below and above. 
As they read the old story of life and of love. 

'Tis enough, for the while, 

To sleep, grow and smile 
And cry out at the things that hurt and annoy. 
Will life, at its best, give better employ? 

Nay, reach with thy will 

For all good that can fill 
Thy need. Scorn the husk or the chaff. Doing so 
Into blessing and power shall thy spirit grow. 



87 



TO A YOUNG MAN ON HIS TWENTY- 
FIRST BIRTHDAY 

I SAW a slim, young moon three nights ago ; 
It hung in its young glory, shy and low — 
A segment of a circle soon to shed 
Its full-orbed splendor overhead. 
A picture of young life it seemed to me, 
A shining promise of the life to be. 

I saw, a little longer time ago, 

A slim, brown sapling just begin to grow — 

Saw twig and branch, unfolding leaf and flower 

Reach far and farther, growing, hour by hour. 

Until, upon its branches, widely flung. 

In grateful shade, the joyous children swung. 

Some months ago (if reckoned by the sun, 

I know 'twas twenty years — and one. 

But still, to me, 'twas but the other day), 

A human hopeful m his cradle lay. 

He thrust his plump, pink fists up toward the sky 

And sang his infant solo, clear and high. 

Then, while I watched and wondered, just a span, 

Grew up and makes his bow to us, a man — 

A man, 'tis true, but on life's threshold still. 

It is for him to give back, if he will, 

Even like the moon, which while the world has rolled, 

Gives ever back — returns its borrowed gold, 

And like the tree whose leaf and fruit and shade 

Give back to mother earth what earth has made. 

I would, to-day, with earnestness and stress 

The law that rules in nature's work impress: 

SS 



I he moon turns ever to the sun full-face; 
The tree gams from the sun its strength and grace ; 
And growing men must fling the soul-gates wide, 
That God's own light their lives may guide 
To larger things — strength, helpfulness and power. 
Day by day, to life's meridian hour. 



89 



GROWING YOUNG IN CALIFORNIA 

WHEN one counts his years by decades. 
Has seen full many come and go. 
Counted by the falling leaves 

And counted by the winter's snow. 
When one has marked their speedy passing 

By springtime's bloom and summer's gold. 
Until the truth is deeply graven 

That with them he is growing old. 
There is waked impulse, resistant 

Of the swift seasons' stern decree. 
That bids him come to watch them blend 

Uncounted by the western sea. 
Spring and winter twin-born pass 

While roses bloom and robins sing. 
Seasons yield their fruits and flowers. 

Forgetting time is on the wing. 
Waking newly the child-heart 

By ceaseless bloom, by wild bird's song. 
And nature's changes, truly teaching 

That life is new, souls ever young. 



90 



MY BOY 

GET the good of each passing year, 
For each is bringing manhood near. 
To that coming man be true, be true. 
His fate, my boy, hes all with you. 



91 



LETTER TO A FAMILY REUNION 

GREETINGS, dear ones: 
And may you have a day of joy 
Upon the oak-crowned hill beside the Illinois — 
A day that memory shall still hold sweet 
In years when even the children's dancing feet. 
Now so alert with energy and hope, 
With heedful step shall tread life's sundown slope, 
A day in which the cloud of care uplifts 
And shows the sun clear shining through the rifts. 

I send my word to you o'er many a mile, 
And yet, in fancy, I can see the smile 
On faces loved, can ^ee the mists m eyes 
That dim when ever present memories rise 
Of absent ones — absent forevermore. 
Grieve not. Be glad, as in the days of yore. 
Be glad for many blessed years through which 
Their lives, their love, their labors, made us rich. 

'Tis not to celebrate the family's fame 
Or waken pride in our forefathers' name 
We meet, but to recall their sterling worth, 
Their service to the land that gave them birth. 
The heritage they left of honor, truth. 
And godly living. Let the heart of youth 
Own, gratefully, to this, most sacred debt: 
To make life measure to the standard set. 



92 



A GOLDEN WEDDING 

IN every time and every clime, tho' late or olden. 
Love is the same immortal spark, 'tis ever golden. 
Its early vows are beautiful as budding roses, 
Or as the first faint flush the waking morn discloses. 
So deep in us the love of love's new birth is bedded. 
That joy doth greet each morning sweet that joins the 

newly wedded. 
Yet youthful love, even proved by surest test and token, 
Is but good ore from rocky mines new broken ; 
It needs must meet the furnace heat, know friction's losses. 
The grind of daily care, the trials and the crosses. 
It must endure the fullest meed of time's long testing 
Beneath the Great Refiner's hand, unresting. 
Before it is forged and fitted for the last imprinting 
And stamped pure coinage of the Master's minting. 
But when the years have wrought their work, by 

custom olden. 
We celebrate a festal day — a wedding golden. 
Joy to the day — joy to repay all past regretting! 
Brighter be love's golden glow unto its diamond setting! 



93 



THE DEBT ANCESTRAL 

IF to the men and women of our line. 
Ancestral, we may trace aught that is fine, 
High-souled, courageous, virtuous, true, 
It points to duty, makes it doubly due 
That we, too, light the torch of faith sincere. 
And bear it high to give the dark world cheer. 
And lest we fail by selfish word or deed. 
Unworthy, stamp upon each heart the creed 
Which they, by lives of faithful service taught: 
"My rule: not what I please but what I ought.'' 



94 



LOVING SERVICE 

WE may not serve, as Martha did. 
The Master while He sits at meat; 
Nor yet, the precious ointment pour. 
Like Mary, on His weary feet. 
But He, unchanged, sees from above 
The smallest service done in love. 

One gave her service, thus would we 
Serve Him through service to His own ; 
But may a love like Mary's be 
Sole prompter of the duty done. 
That ours may be, though large or small, 
Love's offering — its best, its all. 

One broke the alabaster box. 
Poured out her offering costly, meet; 
So let our broken hearts aspire 
To consecration, full, complete. 
How blest to hear Him, if we should 
Pronounce our work, like Mary's, good! 



95 



A HYMN 
"serve the lord with gladness" 

THERE is joy in the service if Jesus be near, 
There is sweetness and rest 'mid encompassing fear. 
Though the sun may be hid in the cloud-darkened skies. 
In the joy of the morning its glories shall rise. 

REFRAIN: 

Jesus is near us. He lifteth our load. 
Jesus once lived, and He knoweth our road. 
Knoweth our burdens, our weakness, our woes — 
Let us be glad that the dear Lord knows. 

O, rejoice all ye weavers who toil at the loom. 
Sing for joy, all ye workers who delve in the gloom. 
For each stroke of your arm and each furrow and seed 
Through God's blessing may comfort some brother in need. 

If the field of your work shall be stony and poor. 
If a lot like the Master's be yours to endure, 
O, exult in the fellowship sweet, for we know 
There's a crown, higher up, for the faithful below. 



96 



THE COVENANT OF PEACE 

The mountains shall depart and the hills be removed; but 
;np kindness shall not depart from thee, neither shall the 
covenant of mp peace be removed. — Isaiah 54.10. 

BE thou at rest, my heart, to-day. 
To watch the gathering storm-clouds play 
Upon the tall Sierras, 
Whose mute and changeless peace remains 
Through light and shade, through night and rains 
To chide our transient worries. 

What matter that the storm-king rides 
His chariots down their channeled sides 

Or makes his playground there? 
Like stir of growth or waking zest 
Of lusty child on parent's breast. 

It makes their joy profounder. 

Learn thou to stand serene, upborne. 
Centered in peace, though surface-torn. 

Steadfast when storm obscureth. 
For even though mount and hill depart, 
God's kindness will not leave thy heart, 

His covenant endureth. 



97 



THE MOTHER'S VOICE 

OVER the wind-swept prairie's breast 
A Voice is heard from out the West. 
It calls through rugged eastern hills, 
Through sunny, southern vales it thrills. 
'Tis not the cry of hunter bold. 
Nor sound of pick in mines of gold. 
Nor plowman's song whose furrow rows 
Make deserts "blossom like the rose." 
'Tis not the locomotive's scream. 
Whose eye of fire and breath of steam 
Go rushing down the river-side 
Past huts of sod and homes of pride; 
Past cities sprung like Jonah's gourd 
From plains by nature's riches stored. 
'Tis not the whirr of factory wheel. 
Hammer or saw or clang of steel. 
Such music clangors far and near. 
But gentler undertones appear — 
They voice the plea of mother-hearts. 
Like this: "O, men, are not the arts 
All secondary, for the sake 
Of sacred homes that mothers make? 
The furrow is turned, the wheels go round 
While axes, saws and hammers sound 
Only to build that sheltering nest 
That men call home and make it blest. 
Roads are laid for human feet. 
Grain is grown that men may eat. 
All art should serve some human need. 
Some want of soul or sense should feed. 
Why, then, O, ye who rule the state. 
Permit a traffic born of hate 

98 



To deal out poison to our sons? 

Danger, as dire as swords or guns 

In foeman's hands, confronts our flock. 

Hence, at the door of power we knock 

And ask you, men and voters, for 

Your help in this the mightiest war 

Of modern times. O, not alone 

Build railroads that shall belt the zone! 

Build up a legal wall to keep 

Your children from the foes that sweep 

Thousands, yearly, to the lomb — 

Thousands to a drunkard's doom. 

Take from our streets the legal snare. 

Rise in your might and nobly swear. 

By all the power God gives to thee. 

Our country may and shall be free 

From licensed crime. A waiting land 

Watches to see you take that stand. 

Children lift their pleading eyes. 

Mothers look through tears and sighs. 

And fathers, too, grief-stricken, moan, 

'O Absalom, my son, my son!' 

All plead with you in honor's name 

To stop rum's devastating flame. 

Fire guards to set, as pioneers 

Set them, and sleep devoid of fears. 

A fire is threatening to sweep 

O'er homes where helpless children sleep. 

O, make this guard so safe and sure 

That they may slumber on secure — 

A legal guard to shield and sever 

Our country's homes from rum, forever." 



99 



CHRISTIAN ENDEAVOR MARCHING SONG 

(.Suggested by the EndeaVorers, assembling on Lookout Mountain, Georgia, where ihey 
sang a hymn.) 

COURAGE, Christians, we are coming! 
We are coming millions strong — - 
Coming in our youth and vigor. 
Hear you not our battle song? 
"Christ for men and men for Christ! 
Forward, storm the forts of wrong!" 

Cry of man for brotherhood 
Taught and promised in the Word, 
Fire and fervor of His plea 
All the ages long have stirred. 
Usher in its glorious day — 
Day of which the prophets heard ! 

Cease the old sad cry of fathers: 
"Absalom, my son, my son!" 
Wipe the falling tears of mothers — 
This the message of His Son. 
Christ for men and men for Christ! 
Forward till the world is won ! 

We will lift our brother, fallen. 
Help our sisters to the light — 
One in sorrow and in sinning. 
Equal each in Heaven's sight. 
Christ for us and we for Christ ! 
Forward, march we for the right ! 

Dwelleth love in him who heeds not 
When he seeth his brother's need? 
Nay, who lives a life of loving 

100 



Pours it forth In kindly deed. 
Thus the Master Hved and taught. 
Onward, to fulfill His creed! 

Cease forever wars of gaining! 
Long their wrath hath been outpoured. 
Ours to fight a nobler battle 
Armed with but the Spirit's sword. 
Christ for us and we for Christ! 
Forward, army of the Lord ! 

We are coming to the rescue. 
We are coming millions strong. 
With our faith and high endeavor. 
Will you join our battle song? 
Christ for men and men for Christ ! 
Forward, storm the forts of wrong! 



101 



RIGHT WINS 

"IV/HO wins on battle fields of life? 

' '^ Who wears the wreath from fields of strife? 
Whose courage fails not, storm or calm? 
Who never fails to bear the palm? 
Who brings bright honor from the field 
As Spartan youths brought back the shield? 
'Tis he who aims a steady dart, 
Who keeps a firm, unyielding heart — 
He wins. 

Who fails when nations come to test 
To stand among the truest, best? 
Who, selfish, shuns the storm of wrath. 
Who stands, a block in progress' path? 
Count the dauntless. On your list 
Of friends or foes these names are missed — 
Half-hearted men whom all deride. 
Claiming and claimed for neither side — 
These fail. 

By whole-souled men the work is won. 
Whose hands and hearts impel it on. 
Whose minds of depth and wills of might 
Deem every question wrong or right. 
They never one atom of principle yield 
While Right has foes or Wrong a shield. 
For them the golden moments wait — 
'Tis these who pluck bjright fame from fate. 
These win. 

102 



He wins who gives the work his heart, 
He fails who acts the half-way part. 
Be true, be manly, choose your side — 
Choose and fling your colors wide! 
The world needs men of might and will — 
Needs courage and conviction still. 
Stand in your place. The wrong oppose, 
When Right with Wrong to battle goes! 
Right wins! 



103 



T 



FOR OLD TIMES' SAKE 

CFnr a reunion of old comrades in Christian work) 

OGETHER in the long ago 



We set our feet to tread this way. 
Together in the noonday glow 

We kept the path and did not stray. 
Long friendship links us hand in hand 

And lights our far-spent afternoon. 
As marching toward the sunset land 

Each takes of each one blessed boon — 
A word of love and cheer to make 

Our pathways bright — for old times' sake, 
A word of cheer for old times' sake! 

Our souls within us oft have stirred 

When, in the times of toil and care. 
We've sought refreshment in the Word 

And found the fullness treasured there. 
Now, when the years behind us grow 

O'er long, renewedly we seek 
For grace to soothe the wounds of woe. 

To lift the fallen, help the weak. 
So, once again, our zeal to wake. 

Chant we a psalm for old times' sake — 
One blessed psalm for old times' sake. 

Our marching songs have echoed high — 
Dear hymns they were of hope and faith 

And loud acclaims of victory 

Through Him whose arm is underneath 

All true endeavor, strong to turn 

Man's weakness into Heaven's might. 

104 



Still let us sing with hearts that burn — 

Sing of triumph for the right, 
Of "Blessed ties" that shall not break, 

Of "Firm Foundations" naught shall shake- 
Sweet hymns of love for old times' sake. 

When hope was young and hands were strong 

To meet each duty day by day. 
We kept in step with psalm and song; 

But, often, lest our feet should stray. 
In comradeship of prayer we made 

Fervent petition and found grace. 
As still we need the Master's aid, 

While life accords us speech and space, 
Once more in unity we'll make 

Our prayer together for old times' sake — 
One prayer, beloved, for old times' sake! 



105 



THE WHITE RIBBON 

1HAVE seen a white gleam 
On the thronging street 
Where the paths of the strange 

And the straying meet. 
'Twas the temperance badge — 

Just a ribbon of white 
But a token of hope 

And a promise of hght. 

Refrain: 

O, Httle white bow 

With your saving glow, 
Shine on, shine on ! 
Shine for the things that are holy and pure. 
Shine for the truth that shall ever endure. 
Shine for the life that is loyal and white. 
Shine for victory, shine for right! 

O little white bow, with your saving glow. 
Shine on. Shine on ! 

I have seen it again at the hearth of home. 
Ere the children have gone earth's by-ways to roam — 
Sign of motherhood roused Sin's dark torrent to stem. 
That her children's life-path might be safer for them. 

REFRAIN 

To the hall or the court or the haunts of woe. 
Like a ray from the sun comes the ribbon bow. 
From the desolate hearth, from the prison-cell cold. 
Seek its wearers to bring each lost sheep to the fold. 

REFRAIN 

inr; 



SPIRIT OF CHRISTMAS 

SPIRIT of Christmas, from Bethlehem's manger. 
Breathe forth thy blessing o'er comrade and stranger; 
Heed not nor stay for time, distance or weather; 
Bind the torn hearts of the sad world together. 
Weld closer the bonds that shall never be broken. 
Love's kingdom is coming and thou art the token. 



107 



A GIFT OF LONG AGO 

THE broad and silent Mississippi 
Lay locked in winter's ice and snow 
When I bought that Christmas trifle 
Forty years ago. 

It was but the tiniest token — 
Merest spark of constant glow 
Of love that filled our hearts, dear one, 
Forty years ago ! 

So full had been our years together 
We did not deem them few or know 
We were but children in world lore. 
Forty years ago. 

And neither portent or pre-vision 
Made known how far our feet must go 
Through wastes of care and vales of sorrow 
Forty years ago. 

Still ice-locked sleeps the mighty river 
And still its June floods ebb and flow. 
Gleams still at hand the gift, so slender. 
Of forty years ago. 

But vanished are the friendly faces — 
Some sleep, some wander, to and fro. 
Who were wont to grace our hearth-side 
Forty years ago. 

Through days o'er crowded, swift and changeful 
By devious paths must memory go 
Back to that peaceful Christmas day 
Forty years ago. 

ins 



How many fond ambitions shattered. 
How many cherished hopes he low. 
While this dumb gift survives to tell 
Of forty years ago! 

To call to mind the kingly river. 
The town, the church, our cottage row. 
The days we wrought in love, together. 
Forty years ago. 

Since then how fast the years unravel — 
By lake and sea, in sun and snow. 
In lands we had not thought to travel. 
Forty years ago. 

Life has not spared the hand of chastening- 
The wisdom taught by trial and woe 
Has set along our way its warnings, 
Since forty years ago. 

And yet the best of life abideth: 
God's love and thine I know, 
Still they brighten joy and sorrow 
As forty years ago. 

So vivid thine, I'm half forgetting 
(And this, dear one, is food for tears) 
I have missed thy step beside me 

Through half the forty years! 



109 



HOSPITALITY 

WOULDST know true hospitality? 
Visit the home in Bethany. 
See Mary forget house-wifely zest 
In joy of welcoming her Guest, 
While Martha seeks to entertain 
By anxious service, toilsome, vain. 
A friendly welcome from the heart, 
A love, sincere, was the good part 
That Mary chose. And still the guest 
Is not by care and cost served best. 
Better far than sumptuous fare 
The joy that welcoming faces wear! 



110 



FROM FAILURE TO FLIGHT 

OSOUL, slumber not, plume thy wings, 
make thee strong; 
Let not failure or fall win thine eyes 

from the height 
Till conqueror thou shalt rise up 

with a song 
On wings that through failure found strength 
for the flight! 



Ill 



MY PLANTING 

I WILL not scatter evil seeds of doubt, 
despair and fear 
Lest I should in the harvest time, with no 

good sheaves appear. 
Hope shall grow in fields I sow, whatever 

may affright. 
And faith my furrows follow, though 
I plough in darkest night. 



112 



LIGHT THROUGH THE CLOUDS 

THE clouds hung o'er the sea. 
Their mists obscured the view 
And veiled in sodden grey 

The stretch of burnished blue, 
When from some nft unseen 

A sudden brightness sprung. 
Broke through the imprisoning clouds 
That elsewhere closely clung. 

A shaft of light gleamed forth. 

Though sea and sky were grey. 
Before my raptured eyes 

An aisle of brightness lay — 
A shining path of gold 

Across a mist-grey sea 
Whereon a shining ship 

Seemed sailing in to me. 

I know this ship of gold, 

Tho' I should journey wide, 
Will touch no port for me. 

Its decks I shall not ride; 
For on life's rugged roads 

Such visions often gleam — 
Gilt chariots of success 

All built of wish and dream. 

From some fair realm they flash 

Like sunbeams from the sky — 
Cargoes of golden hopes 

That ever pass us by. 
Yet, while the vision glows 

Our feet can bear the smart. 
For o'er our road it lights 

The Highway of the Heart. 

113 



THE SONGLESS BIRD 

ALL day it fluttered round and round 
With one shrill, unmelodious sound — 
A wearying and unwelcome thing, 
A bird that croaked but could not sing. 
But with its final note I caught 
A single, true and helpful thought: 
Even a birdling's tuneless cry, 
The sound of waters rushing by. 
Of sighing pines, of quivering palms. 
Or /ott'/l; poet's chanted psalms. 
Have place in Nature's chorused song. 
Should silence reign where these belong, 
All incomplete the grand refrain; 
Even Heaven, itself, would miss the strain. 



114 



THE HEAVIEST LOAD 

HE loved the open, wind-swept field, 
Broad horizons, wide, green space 
Where mighty strokes bring bounteous yield. 
Where champions might run a race. 

The height of hills, the river's length. 
The broad expanse of star-set sky. 
The harvest's bulk, the engine's strength 
Busied his mind and filled his eye. 

A few long furrows he had ploughed. 
Some thrills of contest keen had known. 
When weakness gripped his frame and bowed 
Him down to petty tasks and lone. 

Though hot rebellion filled his heart. 
He did his small work, well and true, 
Fierce questioning why he, stalwart 
Of frame, the weakling's task must do. 

Wearied, at last, his hot rage died 
And gentle patience gave him rest- 
Somewhere his high task might abide 
In waiting while he did his best. 

But at the end a great light shone. 
Envisioning the pilgrim road 
And the white gate where one by one 
Each weary traveler left his load ; 

Dissolving questionings and fears. 
Attesting surely his high call. 
Who all unknowing through the years 
Had borne the heaviest load of all. 

115 



A TWENTIETH CENTURY GREETING 

OWIND of the west, come over the sea; 
Mingle with breath of the mountain, free; 
Lift up the voices of song and mirth; 
Carry the tidings over the earth. 
Bright heralds are gleaming in rose and gold 
And swiftly the glories of dawnmg unfold. 
Cometh the light of a marvelous morn — 
First of the century newly born. 

Welcome, thou Presage of coming good. 
Welcome, thy promise of brotherhood. 
Welcome, the pages, unsoiled, of thy book. 
Welcome, the light of thy heavenward look! 
O, fare thou with us along better ways; 
Wear thou, in our presence, the garments of praise. 
For our healing, bring hope, for our bruises a balm ; 
Bring love for our hating, for turmoil, a calm! 

Draped in futurity's misty veil. 
Without search-light or seer to reveal thy tale. 
Swift-footed, but silent, with noiseless tread. 
Befitting the feet that follow the dead. 
Thou comest the bloom of our blisses to share. 
The night of our sadness, the noon of our care. 
Here's greeting and trust that the age to be. 
May be kind, may be just and divinely free! 



116 



SOUVENIRS 

WHEN Summer's rich embroidered robe is spread 
Aglow with pearl and blue, with gold and red, 
When blossom petals scent the languid air 
Till breath of bud and bloom floats everywhere. 
Men, heedless, mow the roses with the grass 
Nor heed the star-eyed daisies, as they pass ; 
But when the frost king steals earth's floral crown 
And frozen diamonds deck her snowy gown. 
Then souvenirs of summer sweets they prize— 
The pure faced lilies and the pansies' eyes. 
No vase too rich to hold the withered spray 
That brings us back the scent of summer day ! 
How surge the tides of love or pale regret 
At sight of some crushed buds of mignonette 
That breathe the breath of unforgotten Junes 
Or tell of vine-clad tryst 'neath summer moons! 

A withered wreath. 
All brown with dust of years, 
May ope the long-closed fount of bitter tears 
And newly bind the heart in sorrow's spell. 
For fresh rosebuds, like love's new tale they tell. 
Touch not like those whose perfumed breath was shed 
On air which fanned the faces of our dead. 

But, truly. 
Love nor death fill full life's page. 
Gifts, fitted for each hand, from stage to stage. 
We find — first toy and tool, then book and pen. 
Each, one by one, slips from the hand, that, when 
'Tis gone with zeal pathetic seeks to save 
Their scant mementoes from oblivion's wave; 
For cold the mould in which that soul is cast 
That keeps no cherished tokens of its past. 



117 



THE POPPY FIELDS 

AT the mountain's base, lies the shimmering plain 
Where the poppies wave like golden grain. 
Like fragments of sunshine or billows of gold. 
In the breath of the springtime their glories unfold. 
The stern old ridges have planted their feet 
In the gossamer tents where the fairies meet. 
And, when canyon and crag and sinuous trail 
Are wrapped in the sunset's dusky veil. 
Their matchless embroideries, green and gold. 
Edge the soft mantle's encircling fold 
With flosses, silken, too fine for a name. 
By needles of sunbeams wrought into flame. 
O, never a king such robes hath found 
As these monarch sierras have wrapped them round. 



118 



IN ORANGE BLOSSOM TIME 

SOFTLY wafted over seas. 
Spring is stirring in the breeze 
Of this, her favored chme. 
Fragrance rare the breezes fling, 
Down the roads the motors sing. 
Brides and birds are all a-wing 
In orange blossom time. 

Out into the fragrant day 

Let your feet and fancy stray. 

Or with the engine climb 
Up on wheel, unwearied, strong, 
Down through flowered vales of song. 
Joy-ride with the world along 

In orange blossom time. 

While the waxen petals fold 
Secrets of the fruit of gold, 

The promise of its prime, 
Gossip winds to laughing eves 
Breathe of star-white blossom sheaves 
Hiding in the glossy leaves 

In orange blossom time. 

Over all the fragrance dwells. 
Ivied walls and rusted bells — 

The mission's ancient chime. 
Valley of the orange tree. 
From the summit to the sea 
Fascination clotheth thee. 

In orange blossom time! 

119 



THE CHILDREN'S FOOTSTEPS 

MOTHERS, I hear the children's feet — 
Hear them tripping down the street. 
From hills and lanes they love to roam. 
With laden hands they're coming home ! 
Shrubs, leaves and blooms they bring — 
Priceless treasures of the Spring. 
Frown not on the scattered greens. 
Some day, perhaps, in distant scenes. 
Good may reach your girl or boy 
With memory of this childish joy! 
Full soon life's growth and changes, due. 
Will lead their footsteps far from you. 
Then, tho' Spring's first violets bloom. 
No little feet will patter home 
To bring the blossom litter where 
You may in their gladness share! 
Into the world of work and men 
Your mother-heart will reach out, then. 
Yearning to know that in life's din 
The wealth their busy hands may win. 
As pure a joy to them may bring 
As gathered violets of Spring. 
And that when evening time is come 
Their happy footsteps, safe, reach Home. 



120 



. WANTS OF THE HOUR 

WE want Ti>ork. Faithful hand, wilhng feet, 
eager brain. 
The needs of the world are calling again. 
Let the white heat of zeal burn in every soul — 
Zeal of love to inspire and our service control. 
If like sentries we stand, each one at his post. 
We shall triumph o'er Wrong and its marshalled host. 

We want prater, not a formal unsanctified speech. 
But earnest and true, all prevailing to reach 
Unto Him who looks down from His radiant throne 
Holding blessings in waiting and crowns for His own. 
Through such work and such prayer earth and Heaven 

shall move 
To speed on the long promised dominion of love. 



121 



THE MOTHER'S PRAYER 

EVER on the heart so loving — 
Ever on the mother's breast. 
Lies the heavy load of longing 
That her children's lot be blest. 

If her human heart be selfish. 
Pleading, pleading for her own. 

Lord forgive the sin ! Send blessing 

None the less — yet bless not hers alone. 

Everywhere, upbreathes to Heaven 
Plea of mother for her child — 

Come the cry from hut or palace, 
Altar-side or desert wild, — 

Lord, receive it. Bind together 

Mine that riseth evermore. 
Hers whose plea is mightiest. 

Hers who never prayed before. 

Seal them with Thine own approval. 
Though their speech be wise or weak, 

They are true heart-cries for blessing — 
Blessing, only, love doth seek. 

Saviour, let Thine ear be open! 

Rachel crieth not alone. 
Bind our prayers in one white sheaf 

And bear them to the throne! 



122 



AUTOGRAPHS 

MAY the friction of life's cares 
Touch so Hght that, unawares, 
They may pohsh, yet not mar. 
The priceless gem of character! 



Men, gladly, battle with the waves 
Or, patient, delve in darkest caves 

For jewels of the earth. 
And shall not we, with equal pains. 
Seek those more enduring gains — 

The jewels of the soul? 



I fain would ask that life, for thee. 
Might one long day of sunshine be; 
But, conscious that unshadowed bliss 
Inhabits other realms than this, 
I breathe, instead, one fervent prayer 
That thine may be the blessing, rare. 
Of acquiescence, sweet and still. 
In all thy Father's perfect will. 



123 



FRAGMENTS OF VERSE 



BEAUTY AND DUTY 

I SAW a row of gorgeous flowers 
Whose colors brightened all around, 
But marked that fragrance filled the air 

From lowlier blossoms near the ground; 
Thus, I thought, does beauty's bloom 
Make brightness where would else be gloom, 
Yet duty, love, and humble worth 
Shed rarer sweetness over earth. 



A FRIEND'S BIRTHDAY 

JOY be with thee! Bells of time 
Have rung for thee this eighteenth chime! 
Before thee lies, like this white page. 
Thy life-time space — from youth to age. 
O, fill it full of noble deeds, 
God give thee wisdom for thy needs! 



124 



THE RHYME OF THE AUTOMOBILE 
(dedicated to speeders) 



L 



ISTEN to the rhyme of the Automobile— the 

Juggernaut with the modern wheel, that bhnds 

you with its fierce headlights and runs you down for 
sport o' nights. A fiend's at the wheel (no horns or 
hoofs, but a breath and a bottle give ample proofs). 
Though you ride your own motor car down the 
street, or cautiously walk on your own steady feet; 
whether, in fact, you stand or you stir, you live by 
the grace of some grim chauffeur. 

The old man cries, "Alas and alack! The safe old 
days cannot come back." The youth cries "Ho! 
as he rescues his frame, "I'll be in on this kilhng game! 
It's me for the wheel; it sure will be fun to honk, honk, 
honk while the hayseeds run." 

Here's where our hard earned cash we blow, for it s 
money that makes the engine go— money and clothes 
and houses and bread. Yet. "Speed!" is the cry. 
"We'll be a long time dead." It's "Ho!" for the joy- 
ride— a scream and a breath, a wild escape m a 
skirmish with death. 

Then it's Ho, for the scrap-pile where money is sunk, 
with the knife and the morgue for the human junk; 
for some are breaking their ankles and things; some 
chasing, too eagerly, angel wings. Many are spendmg 
who never earned, driven to deeds that conscience 
spurned, running a race that leads one straight to the 
sorry side of the prison gate; for young and old and a 
many between are riding to ruin via gasoline. 



125 



DOROTHA FRANCES 

GAILY solemn joy-bells ringing, 
Sent their rhythmic tones a-winging 
Like sunbeam glances. 
To me, from far, their cadence came 
And bore the music of a name — 
Dorotha Frances. 

Springing from a mother's bosom, 
Sprays of buds that promise blossom — 

Hope's fairest fancies — 
I send. And may the brightest hope 

prove true 
That fills thy mother's heart for you, 

Dorotha Frances. 



126 



THE TRUE TALE OF THE 
TENDERFOOT 

(HisLeller.) 

DEAR JOHN: 
You ought to see this glorious sunrise 

With the California glow — 
See it tint the mountain tops 

With their coronets of snow ! 
You should scent the Sweet Alyssum 

Cool and wet with morning dew. 
The ubiquitous Geraniums 

That color all the charming view! 
You should see the berries redden 

On the drooping Pepper boughs. 
While the song of mocking-birds 

Doth your poetic fervor rouse! 
I shall look to see you coming 

To this land of sun and song, 
And — lest you should forget it — 

Be sure to bring your Purse along! 

Dear Joe: 

I have read the rhapsodies 

You are sending us "back east. 

Your poetry is most surprising 

And that's to say the least! 
I will wager you were writing 

All about the blossoming hills 
With your feet upon the fender 

Thinking of the coal man's bills! 
And coming down to real "brass tacks: 

You didn't hunt the sun-rise glow. 
But longed to trade some scenery 

For a furnace-heated bungalow! 

127 



I know about your Paradise 

Of balmy airs, flowers sweel, 
Snowy heights, and (just here, it's time 

For some one to turn on the heat.) 
Confess, you, tenderfoot ! You'd like. 

In your sympathetic hours, 
To bring the "garden sass" indoors 

And warm the shivering flowers! 
And then that ocean bath at Christmas! 

Of your cool stories that's the nub — 
Leave off about the rolling surf. 

Confess — you took it in a tub! 

Postscript : 

Say, old pal, I'll be out there 

Quite soon, to help you boost and blow. 
You will deride my zeal, perhaps, 
But I'll get rid of shoveling snow! 



128 



A TRUE CHRISTMAS STORY 

THEY had taught her, "Now I lay me," 
Told her of Heaven up above. 
Of Bethlehem, the manger cradle. 
Of Jesus and His Love. 

And then they told of Santa Claus 
Coming with reindeers over the snow. 

With lots of toys for girls and boys 
If they were good and true, you know. 

One day she came with grief and sobs — 
Stories of Santa Claus weren't true; 

They were just old fairy tales 
That all the grown-ups knew. 

And when we thought the grief forgot. 

She came with frightened eyes of blue: 

"Are they all fairy stories — about Heaven 
And angels and Jesus, too?" 



129 



THEY ALSO 

They also have erred through wine, and through 
strong drink are out of the ivay; the priest and the 
prophet have erred through strong drink, ^hey are 
swallowed up of wine, they are out of the way through 
strong drink; they err in vision, they stumble in 
judgment. — Is. 28 ;7. 

ONOT alone the straying sheep 
On Samaria's mountain steep. 
But "They, also," of Judah's land. 
Where the Lord's pure altars stand ! 
Here, drunken priests and prophets reel 
Where Jacob's sons were wont to kneel. 
Dim the prophet's vision now! 
Forgot the Naz'rite's holy vow! 
And judgment stumbles, while the cry 
Of weak ones wronged is rising high. 
Priest and people swallowed up 
In drunkenness' forbidden cup! 
Shall history again record 
A recreant nation's dread reward? 
Shall they on whom Christ's light doth shine 
Be also "swallowed up" of wine — 
Apostate Ephr aim's ruin know 
And share in Judah's self-wrought woe? 
Rise to repentance, ye who hear 
The "Mighty and strong" ones coming near! 
Declare the judgments of the Lord 
On rulers false, who, "for reward," 
Do, now, the wicked justify. 
As in the days of prophecy! 

130 



The woe pronounced on sin is sure, 
The word of God doth still endure. 
And our own country, blest of God, 
Shall not escape the uplifted rod. 
If still through license — fell device — 
It traffics in the people's vice; 
If still the Law's protecting arm 
Gives guard and sanction to the harm 
Of drunkenness — its sin and shame — 
In every land and age the same. 
Alas, that they, so lifted up — 
"They also" love the poison cup! 
Lord, show to all the dangerous path ! 
O, save us from deserved wrath ! 



131 



CHRISTMAS HYMN 

O ING me the story, 
*^ Sweetest ever told. 
Wreathed in a glory 

That cannot grow old. 
Sing of the Christ-child 

Who for us was born. 
Who came to the world 

On the Christmas morn. 

And there was no room 

In the inn for them — 
For the brow that wore 

Heaven's diadem. 
A manger was His, 

No crown and no throne, 
Though kingdoms of earth 

All, all were His own. 

But the angels came down. 

Glory round them shone. 
Heaven's own heralds 

7 he tidmgs made known 
Of good will to man, 

For the wondrous birth 
Meant glory to God 

And peace upon earth. 

Then a new star shone 
O'er the wise men's way 

Till it came and stood 

Where the young Child lay. 

132 



And the songs at night 
That the shepherds heard. 

Bright star in the East 
And the prophet's word 

Declare Him the Son, 

The Savior, divine. 
The long-promised One 

Of Israel's line. 
His, no scepter of earth. 

No riches or dross. 
His mission to save. 

From cradle to cross. 

On hills of Judea, 

Where the Jordan rolled, 
By Samaria's well. 

In Jerusalem old. 
He taught men the way 

Of mercy and love. 
He brought them the life 

And light from above. 

Then sing the dear song 

Of earth and of Heaven 
With its blest refrain 

Of sms forgiven. 
Let men in all lands. 

In isles of the sea. 
Tell the glad story 

And hold jubilee. 



133 



SUMMER 

SHE comes, with perfumed breath across the lands. 
Rich broidered with the flosses from her hands. 
She tosseth, far and swift, the tangled sheen — 
The lily-white, the golden and the green — 
Till flower-borders edge each dusty pass. 
And laces pearled with mist adorn the grass. 
A hint of blue for sweet forget-me-nots. 
And threads of softest silk for daisy dots 
She weaves; then dips her thread in sun-set glows. 
Breathes on her work, and lo, the red, red rose! 

And thus comes life across the flowered way. 
That youthful hopes and fancy decks so gay. 
Her shuttle, swift, a wondrous pattern weaves — 
Fair tapestries inwrought with flowers and leaves. 
One vase she bears aloft among the clouds, 
Adrip with mists that morning's glory shrouds; 
The tint of sunrise, shine of stars it holds; 
All beauty waiteth till its bloom unfolds 
Kissed by the airs of some supernal morn, 
Then Love, the one, one rose of life is born ! 



134 



THE BLIZZARD 

T OOK, yonder, to the south! A strange, grey fog 

■*-^ Rises and rolls above the hill-tops there, 

As if a thousand fires were burning fierce 

Behind, and poured their smoke into the air. 

It has a threatening look and swiftly moves 

This way — covers the landscape like a cloak. 

See, how the hills are blotted, one by one! 

Denser it seems than fog, whiter than smoke! 

So fast it comes the men have taken fright. 

I hear their shouts to drive the cattle in- — 

'Tis storm! 

Driven by all the winds that blow. 
Its fury bursts on us with roar and din. 
The doors and windows spring and strain. 
The young trees writhe and twist before its power. 
Then, falls on all the scene an icy veil. 
Before which living things, wind-driven, cower. 
A smother of frost checks the breath. Sight fails 
In the white darkness of the flying frost 
That strikes like powdered steel. Relentless gales 
Whirl men in savage dance, as spent and lost. 
They wander in the Arctic fog till fate 
Brings them unwaking sleep, or lawless blast 
Drives them, unseeing, to some friendly gate. 
Like wrecks on shores of snowy seas upcast. 

Cold Terror of the plain ! 
Why break, unheralded, into the peace 
Of a mild noon? Dread suffering in your train 
Comes swift. Then hold your wolfish winds in leash ! 

135 



Spare, now, the happy children who, this morn. 

Tripped merrily along the unfenced road, 

The patient cattle feeding in the corn. 

The farmer, homing slow with heavy load ! 

Vain plea ! The storm roars on with force unspent. 

A hundred homes with helpless fear are chill. 

The bravest, only, to the battle bent, 

Gain, now a step, a breath, by might or will — 

All strength to the high task of rescue bowed; 

For weak ones struggle vainly in the storm. 

Some, this veil of deadly frost, shall shroud. 

For whom are waiting hearts and hearth-fires warm. 

Around the little prairie schoolhouse, lonely, frail. 
The angry blast with ceaseless fury screams. 
To guide the children on the homeward trail 
No voice, no star, no friendly candle gleams, 
But winds tear their shelter roof from frame. 
Drive them to meet the unpitying blast. 
Teacher and taught, weak and strong, the same 
Dread battle try; for some — the last. 

The morning broke. 
The earth lay spent and still. 
The boldest fear to know what underlies 
The drift-filled hollows and the whitened hill 
Where some, alas! sleep cold beneath the skies. 
Others, amid the war of elements. 
The struggle won, snatched periled lives from 

clutches chill. 
Led them to safety by some super-sense — 
Or, better: by Great Heaven's will. 
One led to shelter safe her shivering group. 
Lest they be scattered in the blinding storm. 
She bound them, each to each, with guiding rope. 
Her deed won her a nation's praises warm. 

136 



One wandered with her charges, round and round. 
Endured, with them, night's sufferings and alarms. 
To creep at morn from out the frozen mound 
Where they had perished in her arms. 

O, never shall be told in full the tale 

Of that wild day and night of death and dread. 

And never shall be counted all the toll 

Of loss and suffering — maimed and dead! 



137 



T 



HAPPINESS 

O wake at morn to song of birds. 
To loving smiles and cheerful words, 
To feel the healthful pulses leap 
With strength renewed in restful sleep — 
These are gifts of life that bless, 
Strands that weave its happiness. 



To know our work, to see the need 
And meet it well by timely deed. 
To use with skill the art we've learned. 
To eat with joy the bread we've earned — ■ 
These are gifts of life that bless. 
Strands that weave its happiness. 

Chiefest store of wordly wealth 
Is found in love, in work, in health. 
To know that though we sleep or wake. 
The love of God shall not forsake — 
This, the best of gifts that bless. 
The warp and woof of happiness! 



138 



OCTOBER ROSES IN CALIFORNIA 

OCTOBER roses — not frail hot-house blooms 
Nor luscious flowers that grow in serried rows, 
The pride and triumph of the gardener's art; 
Not, even, the flowers, beloved of every heart. 
That grew in gardens that our mothers loved. 
But, late, wild roses, open-petalled, sweet 
As those that smiled away their brief June day 
Beside the fields of corn, by green road sides. 
And moss-grown, zig-zag fences which we knew 
When life was in its June and rose-hued, too. 

October roses — darlings of the sun 

In whose long kiss exhales their little day. 

How in this autumn moon of fruit and sheaf. 

Of garnered harvests and of changing leaf. 

Came they to beauteous bloom? Their blushes deep 

Are like some disappointed maiden's cheek 

Who seeks the bower," in all her festive robes. 

To find the dance is done, the revellers gone. 

And, yet, not so. June, who with her roses comes 

A radiant guest to other lands, dwells here 

And twines her sweet, wild garlands round the year. 

October roses — on the canyon's side 

A mingled mass of brilliant color lies. 

The branches, brown, their clustered rubies wear; 

Leaves cling and color in the frostless air; 

Beside them, on the same brown stem, each day. 

Pink buds lift baby faces to the light. 

Give back their own wide-open smile, and fall. 

Yet nothing dies, for every falling flower 

Leaves resurrection pledge behind. 

And every crimson sphere that glows 

Holds in its heart a perfect rose. 

139 



October roses — with their brave, bright hues, 
Touch subtle springs of pathos in the heart. 
They speak of late-won laurels gayly worn 
O'er hearts that care has chilled and conflict torn, 
Of hampered lives that, yet, yield fullest meed 
Of laughter, gladness, song and deed. 
Of struggling souls that bravely face the light. 
Knowing cheerful courage, only, wins the prize. 
They give June's smile to dull October skies. 



140 



THE BATTLE OF LEON 

(At the foot of the Mexican mountain, El Mirador, whose upper- 
most peak is capped by a white turret to which the religious folk in 
other days made pilgrimages for the saying of prayers or the doing of 
penances, are arrayed the armies of Mexico's warring chiefs. Generals 
Villa and Obregon. The little shrine on the mountain top overlooks 
the entire valley of the Rio de Leon, but its ancient peace is rudely 
broken. Two parallel lines of steel fifteen miles long, eighty cannon 
and fifty thousand men are charging and counter-charging across a 
plain strewn with dead and wounded. 

For three weeks they have maneuvered and fought for advantage in 
this valley, and the burros and carts of the peons, loaded with women 
and children from the haciendas, are blocking the roads. A half moon 
shines placidly as if oblivious of the scene where the wounded and 
dying lie and where the morrow will bring added numbers. Thus 
men struggle and die, and Mexico suffers on.) 

THE pillared peak, El Mirador 
Shines whitely in the tropic sun. 
As when in peaceful days of yore 

Sad penitenies, one by one. 
Climbed, painfully, the rocky trail 

To pray beside the Virgin's stone 
Revered as guardian of the vale — 
Fair vale of Rio de Leon. 



The shrine is still, the suppliants late. 

And where the casa blanca stands. 
Beneath whose roof in lordly state 

Once dwelt the owner of these lands. 
Encamps a chief — a warrior 

Whose guns resound with thunderous tone. 
Whose men are fighting, dying there 

Beside the Rio de Leon. 

Sad-eyed senoras, pray again 

For passing souls, by battle torn. 

Whose pulseless bodies strew the plain 
That once was fair with fruit and corn ! 

141 



Yes, cry to Heaven your grief and pain. 
Bewail the battle — lost or won — 

For they but fight to fight again 
Along the Rio de Leon. 

And ye, fair seiioritas, wail 

For lovers who will come no more. 
For harvests crushed by war's rude flail 

While children starve from shore to shore ! 
Let pleading tears your deserts dew. 

Pray in your shrines so vast and lone. 
That Heaven send peace and order to 

The vale of Rio de Leon. 



142 



THE OLD BLUE SPREAD 

THEY did excellent work in the storied old days. 
And this souvenir speaks of their provident ways. 
Its threads knew the whirl of the spindle and wheel, 
They have swung round and round with the dizzying reel; 
And, perhaps, it was some thrifty forbear of mine 
Who spun the blue threads that form the design. 

It is only a piece of an old worn spread 

That dear hands have oft, tenderly, tucked round my bed. 

That so often I've handled, awake and asleep. 

It seems it must, somehow, my memory keep. 

That, somewhere, secreted in fabric or fold. 

It must treasure the tales that the years have told. 

It is voiceless, I know, yet that fragment, to me. 
Recalls the old home, like the turn of a key. 
And my mind goes tripping from room to room 
Like the feet of a child who has just come home. 
I see the old bed-posts, each topped with a ball. 
The smooth, soft bed and the spread over all. 

Recollection flies fast and down the long lane 
Of the years since I slept 'neath the old counterpane 
Appeareth a voice and a presence, near. 
That made the old home and its memories dear. 
Of the heart-song of home 'twas the dominant note; 
I think of it, now, with a sob in my throat, — 
Mother ! 



I4,> 



